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THE FATAL REQUEST. 


















































































































THE 


FATAL REQUEST 


A. L. HARRIS 

l) f 

AUTHOR OF “ MINE OWN FAMILIAR FRIEND.’* 



3//7S- . 

yy 1 


NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 6 c 106 Fourth Avenue 


Copyright, 1891, by 


CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. ’ 


All rights reserved. 


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


CONTENTS 


^ - — * 

► 

BOOK L— MAGNOLIA LODGE, DULWICH. 

• PAUK 

CHAPTER I. 

“We Shall Find It Out Some Day I" . . . . 1 

CHAPTER II. 

“After All These Years ! ” 10 

CHAPTER III. 

Midnight Reflections 20 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Claw of a Lobster . ...... 30 

CHAPTER V. 

“The Secret Lies Between Us Two!’' .... 40 

CHAPTER VI. 

The 4 -30 Train i>0 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Search for a Father .60 

CHAPTER VIII. 

In the Vestry 70 

CHAPTER IX. 

Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright 79 

CHAPTE1 X. 

A Startling Disccvery ....... 88 

CHAPTER XI. 

Suspicions 97 

CHAPTER XTI. 

The Fourth Carr:> age from th £ Eng ine ... 107 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Dr. Jeremiah at 1 Iome 


116 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Other Passenger . . 125 

CHAPTER XV. 

Coming Home 134 

CHAPTER XVI. 

An Eye for an Eye 142 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Burnt Letter 151 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The New Client ......... 160 


CHAPTER XIX. 

To Be Left Till Called For 169 


CHAPTER XX. 

At Twelve of the Clock 178 

CHAPTER XXI. 

“ That Other Man ! ” 186 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Advertisement in the “Standard” . . . 195 

CHAPTER XXIII. 


Dr. Jeremiah is Astonished 204 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Girl with the Cornflowers 213 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A Suit of Ready-Made Clothes 223 


BOOK II.— BELMONT HOUSE, HAMPSTEAD. 

CHAPTER I. 

Leaves from a Young Lady’s Diary , . , .231 

CHAPTER II. 

The Diary— Continued .239 

CHAPTER III. 

A Young Man of the Name of Edwards . . .247 

CHAPTER IV. 

“One Hundred Pounds’ Reward” .... 253 


CONTENTS. 


vii 


CHAPTER V. 

Blood Money 

• • • • 

PAGE 

262 

CHAPTER VI. 
Cook Speaks Her Mind 

• • • • 

271 

CHAPTER VII. 

Leaves from a Young Lady’s Diary- 

-Continued 

277 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Extract from the Diary of the Young Man of the 
Name of Edwards 

285 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Diary— Continued .... 

• • • 

293 

CHAPTER X. 
The Agony Column .... 


301 

CHAPTER XL 

. 



Dr. Jeremiah Demands an Explanation . . .309 

CHAPTER XII. 

Extract from a Young Lady’s Diary— Continued . 319 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Extracts from a Young Man’s Diary . . . . 326 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Contents of a Dustpan 335 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Robbery and a Recognition ...... 842 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Perkins’ Revenge 351 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Envelope with the Three Seals . . . .361 

CHAPTER XVIII. 


The Enigma 370 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Narrative . . • 380 

CHAPTER XX. 


Dr. Jeremiah’s Little Bill 389 



THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Book *♦ 

Magnolia Lodge, Dulwich. 


chapter i. 

**WB SHALL FIND IT OUT SOME DAT.” 

A BOUT the beginning of the month of April, 1884, 
the family of Mr. Silas Burritt observed a 
certain alteration in that gentleman’s habits and 
demeanour. Signs of restlessness, of excitement, 
began to make their appearance and from time to time 
ruffle the surface of his ordinarily calm and business- 
like disposition. 

It appeared to those who studied him that he 
became imbued with an air of anticipation — that he 
started when a knock was heard at the door, and that 
the advent of the postman was awaited by him, if not 
with anxiety, at anyrate with an amount of eager 
expectancy which was, in a general way, quite foreign 
to him. Also, that when any letters were delivered to 
him he apparently scanned the superscriptions which 
they bore with unusual interest, and that this interest 
invariably gave way to an expression of relief or dis- 
appointment, according to the interpretation put upon 
it by those who concerned themselves in the matter. 

1 


2 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


It was also observed that the nearer they drew to the 
end of the month, the more these symptoms became 
exaggerated; and, as day after day went by unmarked 
by any unusual occurrence, he was observed to shake 
his head with a half-smile and a half-sigh, and mut- 
ter, as he thought to himself, “Dead or forgotten?" 
After which, he remained plunged in reflection for a 
considerable time. 

It was his son Edward — more generally known as 
“Ted” — who happened to overhear these words, and 
they caused him no small amount of bewilderment. 

“I can’t make out what’s the matter with the guv’- 
nor,” he observed to his sister May. “He doesn’t seem 
a bit like bimself. Did you notice how he jumped 
when the postman came this morning? and how he 
snatched at the letters when they were brought in?” 

“Poor, dear father 1 ” replied his sister, “I’m afraid 
it’s business. Don’t you remember how he was just 
like this a long time ago, when that bank broke he had 
a good deal of money in ? Perhaps he’s afraid the same 
thing’s going to happen again. If it does, I suppose I 
shall have to go out as a governess, and you ” 

“ Nonsense 1” interrupted the brother; “I know 
better than that. Why, old Jones, the head clerk, told 
me, only last week, that he can’t remember the time 
when the House was in a more flourishing condition 
than it is just now. So, young woman, you see you’re 
wrong for once.” 

His sister shook her head, only half convinced. 
“Then if it isn’t business, what is it?” 

“Ah!” was the reply. “There you have me. It’s 
clear there’s something worrying the dear old boy. 
Perhaps” — as though struck with a sudden bright 
idea — ‘ ‘ perhaps it’s his liver ! It generally is liver, you 
know, when they get about that age. In fact I ” 


U WE SHALL FIND IT OUT SOME DAY.' 


3 


“ But what would his liver have to do with the 
postman, and his being so anxious about his letters?” 
without giving him time to finish his sentence. “ You 
know lately he always inquires, the moment he gets 
inside the door, whether any have come for him.” 

“Well, you know, May, that might be a symptom 
of the complaint,” answered the young man, loth to 
relinquish his latest notion. “I’ll ask Dr. Watson 
next time I see him. I’ll just put it to him, you know, 
in an offhand way. I’ll say, * By-the-by, doctor, can 
you tell me what effect liver has upon ?” 

The conversation thus recorded took place in the 
hall of Mr. Burritt’s large, old fashioned house at 
Dulwich. It was a fine, square hall, tiled in black 
and white and hung with some good oil paintings. 
Three or four doors, belonging to the different dwelling 
rooms, opened into it, one of which happened to be the 
study of the master of the house. It was about seven 
o’clock in the evening that, as the brother and sister 
were talking in low voices, and the former was explain- 
ing his views on the subject under discussion, he was 
interrupted by the sound of that abrupt, loud, double 
knock which is so familiar to us all. 

“ There’s the seven o’clock post,” said the girl. “ I 
wonder if there’s anything for father this time? If 
there is, I’ll ” 

But neither was she allowed to finish, for, as she 
turned towards the direction of the letter box, the 
study door before mentioned was thrown hurriedly 
open and an elderly gentleman rushed across the hall, 
almost jostling his daughter as he did so, and extri- 
cated from its receptacle one letter in a thin, foreign 
looking envelope, the direction on which was written 
in a large, scrawling hand, which barely left room for 
the stamp. Both members of his family succeeded in 

1—2 


4 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


observing this much while their parent gazed, half 
bewildered, at the missive which he held in his hand. 

There was a singular look upon his face, on which 
astonishment seemed struggling with some other 
emotion. Then he drew a long breath. “ After all 
these years ! ” he said to himself. “So he has kept 
his word, after all.” 

All at once he became aware that there were two 
interested — not to say curious — witnesses present, to 
whom his conduct must present itself in a somewhat 
strange light. He accordingly roused himself, passed 
his fingers through the hair which was just beginning 
to turn grey, and gave a short, embarrassed laugh. 
“ A letter, you see. Eather an important letter. I’ve 
been expecting something of the sort for some time — 
or, perhaps, hardly expecting it so much as won- 
dering ” He broke off, and turned it over in his 

fingers. “Nothing remarkable, you know, but — I 
had better go and see what it’s about.” 

He recrossed the hall, re-entered his study and closed 
the door. As he did so both the young people heard 
the key turn in the lock. Evidently their father was 
anxious not to be disturbed in the perusal of the 
mysterious missive, whatever it might be. At the same 
time there was something in the sound of the click, 
made in thus securing the door, that seemed to them 
both — though neither would have admitted it to the 
other — to be a trifle — what was it? — ominous? At 
anyrate, though neither of them said any more on the 
subject at the time, their minds were full of it as they 
each turned to go their different ways ; the one to the 
billiard room for a little private practice, the other to 
the drawing room to try over the last new song. 

“ I wonder what it was?” soliloquized the former, 
as he knocked the balls about, “ and what made the 


“ WE SHALL FIND IT OUT SOME DAY.' 


5 


guv’nor so queer and unlike himself at the sight of it ? 
However, it’s no good troubling myself about it. I 
daresay it’s nothing, after all — unless, as I said just 
now, it’s his liver ! ” 

“I wonder whom it was from?” mused his sister, 
between the verses of her song. “ It’s all very well 
for Ted to say it’s all nonsense. It wouldn’t matter 
so much for him. He wouldn’t have to go out as a 
governess and teach a lot of horrid children what he 
didn’t know himself. It’s all very well for him to say 
it’s nonsense, but I’m quite certain it is something to 
do with business. How I do hate the word ! One, 
two, three. One, two, three. The bass doesn’t sound 
quite right, somehow, and I don’t think I can be play- 
ing it in the proper key. I wonder what Ted’s doing ? 
I think I’ll go and see. I don’t seem to be able to 
give my mind to my music this evening. Though, I 
suppose, if I’m going to be a governess, I ought to 
stop and practise scales for another horn: at least. 
Oh ! dear me,” with a prodigious sigh, as she closed 
the piano with a bang, “ how I shall detest it.” 

She crossed the hall lightly and paused for a moment 
outside the door of her father’s private room. Kneel- 
ing down on the mat she applied her eye to the key- 
hole, in a most reprehensible manner, but the view 
was blocked by the key, which remained in the lock 
on the other side. Then she ventured to softly turn 
the handle, but the door was still locked, and, after 
listening for a moment, during which she fancied she 
detected the sound of the rustling of paper, she went 
on her way, no wiser than before, but more inclined 
to back her original opinion than ever. 

Mr. Silas Burritt remained shut up in his study all 
the remainder of the evening, and only encountered 
his son and daughter at breakfast the next morning 


6 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


■ — being Thursday — when he appeared to have regained 
his ordinary manner; notwithstanding to two pairs 
of inquisitive young eyes there still seemed to be a 
certain absent expression — the expression of a man 
(not that they described it to themselves in any such 
words) who has been reviewing the past, and whose 
thoughts still linger behind him among the years that 
have gone by. There was also a slight suspicion of 
nervousness about him, and several times he seemed 
on the point of saying something, which he put off 
from one moment to another, as a man often does 
when he feels he is about to astonish his hearers by 
some announcement, and is not quite sure what form 
their astonishment may take. At last he made up his 
mind to speak. 

“ My dear,” he said, addressing his wife, of whom 
mention has not previously been made, but who was a 
fact, nevertheless, “I am thinking — that is, I have 
made up my mind — at anyrate, I am going away for a 

day or so. At least Here he found that he 

had by no means miscalculated the effect of the 
announcement, for his voice at this juncture was 
drowned by a family trio — 

“ Where to ? What for ? How long shall you stay ? 
How strange.” 

This last remark, emanating as it did, from his son 
and heir, seemed to cause the object of it some little 
annoyance. 

“ Strange, Ted 1 ” slightly knitting his brows as he 
spoke. “ What do you mean ? What is there strange 
in my leaving home for a day — on business?” 

The last words came after a barely perceptible 
pause. 

“Oh, then, it is business, after all!” broke in his 
daughter May, with an air of hardly repressed triumph. 


“WE SHALL FIND IT OUT SOME DAY ” 1 

“ I knew it was. I said so directly I saw the letter — 
didn’t I, Ted?” 

Her father turned round upon her, rather sharply. 
“What letter?” 

“ The — the letter that came last night,” she stam- 
mered, disconcerted by the unusual tone. Then, re- 
asserting herself, “ I was in the hall, you know, when 
it came, and I thought it looked like business.” 

Her father’s frown relaxed as he patted her on the 
shoulder. 

“Inquisitive little girl,” he said; “what does it 
matter to you what my letters are about ? ” 

“But it was business, wasn’t it?” she persisted, 
secure in her position of spoilt child. 

“ Well — yes — that is, partly so,” he answered. “ At 
feast, it was from an old ” He seemed to re- 

member something and stopped short. “ At anyrate,” 
he continued, “ I have to go to Dover.” 

“ Dover ! ” re-echoed the family. 

“ Yes,” he said, rumpling his hair, and apparently 
taking some care in the choice of his words ; “I find 
I shall have to go there. It is rather inconvenient 
just now, but it can’t be helped ; though it will not be 
more than a couple of days at the outside. By-the- 
by,” turning towards his helpmate, “ it is not unlikely 
that I may bring a friend back with me. No ; it’s no 
one you know,” responding to the question he saw 
trembling on more than one pair of bps. “ At anyrate, 
you had better have a room prepared in case of that 
event.” 

Mrs. Burritt, a mild and somewhat colourless speci- 
men of the British matron, with a partiality for patent 
medicines, here inquired whether the guest, whoever 
he might be, was to have the best spare bedroom, or 
whether the second best would be considered equal to 


8 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


the occasion. Certainly, she was compelled to admit 
that the lid of the soap-dish, pertaining to the latter 
apartment, was cracked, but otherwise 

To this her husband, apparently making light of 
the objection, remarked, hurriedly, that it would do 
very nicely ; and, after all, it was not at all certain 
that the room would be required. Mrs. Burritt, with 
her mind temporarily at rest about the soap-dish, was 
able to turn her attention to another matter of equal 
importance, which she now proceeded to press upon 
her husband’s notice. 

“ If I put a little bottle of Maltby’s Vegetable Extract 
in your portmanteau, you won’t forget to take a dose, 
night and morning ? There’s nothing like it when you’re 
travelling — so easy to carry — no fear of its upsetting 
and spoiling anything ; and it would be such a relief to 
my mind if you would take a tea-spoonful twice a day.” 

“My dear,” was the compliant response, “I’ll 
promise to take a table-spoonful, if it will afford you 
any satisfaction.” 

His spouse smiled upon him, but shook her head 
gently. 

“I think, Silas,” she said, “that you had better 
begin with a tea-spoonful, as you are not accustomed 
to it; afterwards you can increase the dose.” 

Half an hour later Mr. Burritt took a hasty but affec- 
tionate farewell of his family, who, as they watched 
his departure and waved their hands to him, said to 
themselves that he would soon be back again among 
them. In spite of this belief, however, they craned 
their necks to see the last of him. 

“ That’ll do, May,” exclaimed her brother, “ you can 
leave off brandishing that pocket-handkerchief. Any- 
one would think that you never expected to see him 
any more, from the fuss you’re making.” 


“WE SHALL FIND IT OUT SOME DA Y” 


9 


His sister drew in her head and complied with the 
request, murmuring to herself, “ And I only put three 
lumps of sugar in his coffee this morning, though I 
knew he always likes four.” 

“What a little goose you are,” was the truly 
fraternal remark, “just as if ” 

But another regretful voice broke upon his ear. 
“ There now I Your father’s never taken the bottle 
of Vegetable Extract I put ready for him, after all ! 
How disappointing 1 ” 

A little later, when his sister, who had again had 
recourse to her piano, was practising scales like a 
Trojan (if the expression is allowable), the young man 
put his head inside the door of the room in which she 
was, and the following brief conversation ensued : 

“ I say, May I ” 

“What?” 

“ Do you know, it has just occurred to me that the 
guv’nor never mentioned the name of the friend he 
was going to bring back with him.” 

The scale of G major came to an abrupt conclusion. 
“To be sure he didn’t. How funny I But then, you 
see, we forgot to ask him.” 

“ I know we did ; but you would have thought that 
he would have told us without that. However, of 
course it doesn’t matter, and I suppose we shall find 
it out some day. Ta-ta ! I’m off.” 

The door slammed to and the scales were resumed 
with more vigour than ever. 


CHAPTER H. 


•* AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.” 

"AyTR. BURRITT arrived at his destination between 
-L’X six and seven.. He had bought a couple of 
papers at Charing Cross, before starting, for the 
purpose of beguiling the tedium of the journey ; but, 
beyond the merest cursory glance at the outside sheet 
of each, he had given no attention to their contents, 
seeming to find sufficient occupation and distraction 
in his own thoughts. Whether these latter were 
agreeable, or the reverse, it was hard to judge by 
appearances. As he sat plunged in reverie, gazing 
absently out of the window at the flying scenery, they 
seemed to partake of the nature of both. Sometimes 
he smiled to himself, sometimes he shook his head; 
once or twice he sighed. At anyrate the journey 
under these circumstances — whatever they might be — 
seemed a very short one, and he could scarcely believe 
that he had arrived at the end of it when the train 
drew up at the platform. 

Alighting from the first-class compartment in which he 
had travelled, he gave a hasty and comprehensive glance 
round ; as though he thought it half possible that he 
might be met by someone. Then he left the station 
and proceeded in the direction of the “ Lord Warden.” 

Arriving at that famous hostelry he made a certain 
inquiry of the waiter who came forward to meet him. 
To which the reply was, that the gentleman referred 
to had crossed by the boat that morning and had 
engaged a private sitting room, leaving word that he 
10 


AFTER ALL THESE YEARS . 1 


11 


expected a friend from town, who was to be shown up 
immediately on giving his name. 

“ My name is Burritt,” was the reply. 

“Then please to walk this way, sir.” The man 
ushered him up a flight of stairs and along a corridor, 
then, indicating a particular door, said: “This is the 
room the gentleman has taken.” 

“ I will announce myself,” said Mr. Burritt, and the 
man withdrew. 

Then, after a pause of a few seconds, he tapped 
lightly at the door. A voice from within cried : 
“ Come in 1 ” and answering the summons he turned 
the handle and entered. The occupant of the apart- 
ment, a tall, lean, elderly man, who was looking out 
of the window, turned round sharply and confronted 
the visitor. A look — a strange, wondering, intent 
look — passed between them. Then, the stranger, 
made a step forward. “Silas!” he cried. “At 
last ! ” — and the men grasped hands. 

Then followed a brief and impressive silence, during 
which each eagerly scanned the features of the other, 
and which Mr. Burritt was the first to break. 

“James,” he said, and there were traces of con- 
siderable emotion in his voice, “ you are much 
changed. I should hardly have known you.” 

“ Changed,” exclaimed the other, somewhat bitterly; 
“and in twenty years! Is it to be wondered at?” 
Then, with an alteration of tone, “ But I should have 
known you anywhere, Silas.” 

“ Twenty years ! ” repeated his friend. “ Ah, well, 
so it is! How quickly the years have flown. It 
seems nothing like, that to me.” 

“It is that, all the same,” said the other. “It is 
twenty years to the very day. This is the 24th of 
April, 1884. It was the 24th of April, 1864, when 


12 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


you said ‘good-bye’ to me on board the vessel in 
which I was to sail to a new country.” The bitter 
expression again passed over the speaker’s face as he 
uttered these last few words, and he relinquished the 
hand which he had been holding until now. 

“ It is a long time to remain an exile— a voluntary 
exile,” said Mr. Burritt; “you might have returned 
years ago, had you chosen. There was nothing to 
prevent you — nothing,” he repeated, with emphasis. 

The other man shook his head gloomily. “I have 
kept my word,” he said. “You remember my last 
speech to you ? I said, ‘ I am going to begin a new 
life — to make my fortune. In twenty years, if I have 
done so, I shall return. By that time I may hope that 
my crime will have been forgotten. It may be that in 
twenty years some of those who know my wretched 
story will be dead — I may even be dead myself ; but, 
if not, I shall return to the country I am now about to 
leave behind ; for surely in twenty years the disgrace 
which now tarnishes my name will be blotted out and 
forgotten. Until then, farewell ! ’ And now,” he con- 
tinued, “the term of my self-imposed banishment is 
at an end. I have kept my word and I have returned.” 

Mr. Burritt laid his hand upon his friend’s shoulder. 
“You judge yourself too harshly,” he said ; “ the 
word crime is too severe a one to apply to that 
youthful indiscretion — sin, if you will — repented of as 
soon as committed.” 

“ Repentance ! ” cried the other, impatiently ; “ what 
is the good of repentance? Will it recover a lost 
reputation and wipe out a stain upon the past ? The 
fortune I went to seek is mine, but I would give it all 
for an unblemished record, so that I might not be 
ashamed to look any man in the face.” 

“My dear old friend 1” said Mr. Burritt, “put 


“ AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.” 


13 


away these gloomy thoughts. Forget the past and 
look forward to the future. Believe me, there are 
better things in store for you. You may yet anticipate 
many pleasant, peaceful years.” 

His friend sighed. “ If I could only believe it, if I 
could only hope that the story of my sin might remain 
unknown by at least one ; and that in one pair of eyes 
I might still seem the man of unblemished integrity I 
have always striven to appear. Ah, Silas ! it is a 
terrible thing to think that a child of mine should ever 
have to blush for her father ! ” 

“You are married, then?” inquired Mr. Burritt, 
gladly seizing the opportunity thus offered of changing 
the dismal subject. “ Is your wife with you? ” 

“ I am a widower,” was the reply. “ My wife died 
twelve years ago, leaving me with one child — a 
daughter.” 

“ Shall I have the pleasure of seeing her ? ” was the 
next question. 

Mr. Burritt’s friend shook his head. “ I sent her 
home, to the old country to complete her education, 
five years ago; she is now at boarding-school at 
Brighton ; waiting for me to fetch her. But pray sit 
down. What can I be thinking of to allow you to 
remain standing until now ? The meeting with an old 
friend, after so many years, makes me forgetful of even 
the rudiments of hospitality.” 

The two men drew chairs into close proximity and 
sat down. 

“Now tell me all about your daughter,” said Mr. 
Burritt, “ and how you came to make up your mind 
to part with her for so long ? I have a daughter of 
my own — as well as the son who was born before 
you left England — and though I have been threatening 
to pack her off to boarding-school for the last four or 


14 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


five years, I never could reconcile myself to the idea of 
the separation. And now she’s too old — nineteen last 
birthday,” and her father shook his head over his 
own weakness and smiled, an indulgent, parental smile. 

“ That’s the age of my Agnes within a year,” said 
the other ; “ strange that we should have daughters so 
nearly the same age ! ” 

“ They must be friends,” said Mr. Burritt, cordially, 
“ friends, as their fathers were before them.” 

Directly he had made the remark, he wished it 
recalled; for again the look of gloomy despondency 
settled down upon his friend’s face. 

“ Friends 1 ” he repeated. “ Poor child ! She would 
have few enough friends if her father’s story should 
become known.” 

He looked at his companion strangely. 

“I am in your hands, Silas,” he said; “you can 
ruin me in my child’s eyes, as well as in the eyes of 
the world, whenever you please.” 

Mr. Burritt’ s face became flushed, and he started to 
his feet with the haste and hot indignation which would 
have done credit to one of half his years. “ James ! ” 
he cried, with passion, “ is this the way you speak?-— 
is this the way you treat your old friend ? Does the 
fidelity of half a lifetime count for nothing? Have I 
ever done anything to deserve this at your hands ? Has 
one syllable of your secret been breathed by me — even 
to my nearest and dearest — all these many years? 
Why, even your name has been preserved in inviolable 
secrecy, and at this very moment not one single soul, 
besides myself, is aware of the object of my journey, 
or of the identity of the individual I have come to 
meet ! — and this is all you have to say to me I I had 
better return home at once, without more delay ! ” 

He was evidently much moved, and the other man 


“AFTER ALL THESE YEARS . 1 


15 


could not but recognize that the emotion he betrayed 
was genuine. So he, too, rose from his seat and, catch- 
ing Mr. Burritt by the arm, said, “ My dear fellow, 
don’t misunderstand me ! Surely you did not take me 
seriously just now ? Good heavens ! why you are the 
one man in this world that I feel I can trust entirely 
and implicitly. It is not that I doubted you for a 

moment, Silas ; but ” He passed his hand over 

his eyes, as though to clear away something which 
obstructed his vision. Then, after a moment’s hesita- 
tion, he continued : “I only landed in the old country 
this morning, and it has brought it all back again — all 
the shame and sorrow, all the suffering and remorse — 
it seems as fresh as though — as though it had all 
happened yesterday, instead of twenty years ago. I can- 
not but realize the fact that, in spite of all my wealth — 
honestly earned, too, every penny of it, I swear — I am 
a pariah, an outcast. No, don’t interrupt me. I tell 
you” — with a bitter, mirthless laugh — “I feel more 
like a returned convict than anything else.” 

“James!” exclaimed Mr. Burritt, “you shock 
me ! you grieve me more than I can say 1 I ” 

His friend interrupted him. “ You ! ” he sneered, 
“ you are the immaculate citizen — the man without a 
past ! What have you to do with such an one as I ? ” 
There was a bitter sarcasm in his tone, a morbid 
jealousy in his look, but Mr. Burritt refused to recog- 
nize the presence of either. 

“ James,” he said, with feeling — “ or let me call you 
Jim, as I used to do long ago — do you think for a 
moment that I despise' you, or look down upon you in 
any way ? Who shall dare to say that I might not 
have acted as you did, had I been similarly placed? 
After all, what is the difference between us? You 
were tempted and you fell — I was spared the tempta- 


16 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


tion and, therefore, the fall. Who shall declare which 
is the better of the two — the man who has been spared 
the trial, or the man who succumbed and expiated his 
fault by twenty years of remorse and banishment?” 

“ Silas ! ” cried the other, overcome by this generosity. 
“ Forgive me ! There never was a better friend than 
yourself, and I see that you are still the same staunch, 
noble, generous hearted fellow that I knew a quarter of 
a century ago. I am ashamed of myself I Give me 
your hand. I will never doubt you again.” 

They shook hands again in silence, as before, re- 
sumed their seats, and for some moments neither of 
them spoke. Then, the one who has been referred to 
throughout merely by the Christian name of “James,” 
his mind apparently going back to a previous point in 
the conversation just recorded, said, suddenly — 

“ And you say that no one knows — not even the 
members of your own family — the reason of your jour- 
ney, or on whose behalf it was undertaken ? ” 

“I did say so,” was the answer; “and it is true. 
Beyond the fact of my destination, they know nothing 
whatever of the object of my absence from home. 
But, stay, I believe I did mention that I was going to 
meet an old friend, whom I said I hoped to be able 
to persuade to return with me.” 

“You told them that much?” inquired the other 
man, with interest. 

“ That and no more,” was the reply. “ They neither 
aslcod, nor did I volunteer the name of the friend ; as 
it occurred to me that perhaps, for reasons of your 
own, you might be ” 

Mr. Burritt paused, and there was a certain amount 
of embarrassment perceptible in his manner. 

“You thought,” continued his friend, interpreting 
the pause aright, “ that I might be masquerading 


“ AFTER ALL THESE YEARS.” 


17 


under another name than my own ? Oh, yes, I know ” 
— waving him off, as the other would have interrupted 
him at this juncture — “ that was not the way in which 
you would have put it ; but our meaning is the same, 
though you would probably have expressed it better. 
No, though your caution was commendable, it was 
not necessary. I have never gone under any other 
name than my own, and never mean to do so. At 
the same time,.! 1 he continued, sinking his voice and 
looking round him, as though to assure himself that 
there were no listeners, no one present besides himself 
and his friend, “ I am glad that you did refrain from 
mentioning my naipe to any of your family. I don’t 
exactly know why” — with an enigmatical expression — 
“but all the same I am glad of it.” 

“ But you will return with me, will you not ? ” per- 
sisted Mr. Burritt ; “ you will let me introduce you to 
them and make their acquaintance ? There is my son 
Ted, you have never seen him. He was a baby when 
you left England, but he has shot up into a rather fine 
young man — at least so he appears to me,” he added, 
apologetically. “And there is my daughter May, 
almost the same age as your own girl (whom, by-the-by, 
you must belonging to see). Take us on your way, and 
spend at least one night under my roof. Strangely enough, 
you have never met my wife, and she, if she has ever 
heard your name, has forgotten it — consequently there 
will be nothing painful or unpleasant in the meeting.” 

“ You are very good, Silas,” said his friend. “ Ah, if 
they were all like you — but you forget there are others 
who ” 

Mr. Burritt interrupted him. “I know what you 
are going to say and will relieve your mind at once. 
Of all those — and they were not many, six at the 
outside — who were intimately acquainted with your 

2 


18 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


past history and,” he hesitated a moment, “ and that 
unhappy affair, not one is living besides myself.” 

“ What 1 ” cried the other man, in great excitement, 
‘AH dead?” 

“ All but myself,” was the answer. 

“ Thank God for that ! ” burst from the other’s lips. 

Mr. Burritt looked at him doubtfully for a moment, 
and a shade passed over his face. 

“ I suppose it is natural to feel like that,” he said; 
“but somehow, I don’t like to hear you say it. 
Perhaps,” he went on, a little sadly, “ you regret that 
I still remain — that I am not also among the number 
of those ” 

“No, no,” was the answer, given hastily and con- 
fusedly ; “ how can you think it ? Surely it is my turn 

to reproach you now. But ”he stopped abruptly 

— a change seemed to come over him, and he glanced 
once more furtively round the room as he put the 
question. 

“ Will you swear that this is so — that they are 
indeed all dead who are connected with the past, 
except yourself ? ” 

Mr. Burritt looked at him reproachfully. 

“ Is not my word enough. I tell you again, that, 
with the exception of myself, there is not another left 
who is acquainted with your story. You know ” — he 
paused and seemed to look about him for words in 
which to express his meaning less offensively; but, 
finding none, was compelled to continue — “ you know 
it was hushed up at the time.” 

The other gave a short, smothered exclamation, 
then, calming himself, turned towards Mr. Burritt, 
and, laying one hand upon the latter’s breast, asked, 
impressively, “ Then the secret lies between us two? ” 

Mr. Burritt bent his head in reply. Tl:e strain of the 


« AFTER ALL THEM YEARS . 1 


19 


interview was beginning to tell upon him, together with 
the hurried journey, and he felt the need of repose. 

“ Believe me, Jim,” he said, falling back again into 
the old familiar style of address, “ you have nothing 
to fear. Your secret is safe enough with me — never 
doubt it.” He spoke kindly, even affectionately, but 
his fatigue was evident, and his friend could not but 
observe it. 

“ Silas,” he said, “ you are worn out. We will 
continue the subject some other time. To-night you 
remain hex-e as my guest. To-morrow ” 

“ To-morrow,” interrupted Mr. Burritt, “ you accom- 
pany me home. Is it agreed ? Come — I will take no 
refusal.” 

“ Seeing then that that is the case,” was the answer, 
given in a more cheerful tone than he had yet em- 
ployed, “there is no resource left me but to accept.” 
And he held out his hand once more to his friend as 
he spoke, who grasped and wrung it hard in his own. 

Then, “ Jim, old fellow,” said the latter, as a flood of 
memories poured in upon him, “ do you remember 
what good times we used to have together, you and I, 
in the old days? ” 

“ Bemember ! ” was the answer, given almost jauntily, 
“ to be sure I do, and what is more, I have not forgotten 
that there is such a thing as dinner. Come — I have 
taken a place for you at the table d’hote. You must 
be famished.” 

They turned to leave the room together. Mr. Burritt 
passed out first ; his companion lingered behind him. 
As he did so, his brief assumption of cheerfulness fell 
from him; his face changed and darkened, and the 
whole expression altered. 

“ All dead but one,” he whispered to himself — “ and 
that one ” The sentence was left unfinished. 


CHAPTER PH. 


MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 

M R. BURRITT passed a very restless night. Per- 
haps his dinner had disagreed with him. More 
probably it was the result of the agitation and excite- 
ment caused by the meeting with the old friend he 
had not seen for so many years. At anyrate, what- 
ever the cause, there was no doubt as to the effect ; 
for he found it impossible to sleep, or to do anything 
but toss from side to side, as hour after hour wearily 
wore itself away. By some peculiar action of the 
brain, he also found himself compelled to review all 
the past scenes of his life, and mentally, step by step, 
retrace the path he had trodden during those fifty 
years or so, which went to make up the sum of his 
existence on this planet. The most trifling incidents 
and events long forgotten, or buried several strata 
deep by the process of time, were disinterred from the 
dim recesses of his memory, and made to pass and re- 
pass in endless procession before his mind’s eye, as 
they are said to do before those of a drowning man. 
The cricket and football matches, the sliding and 
snow-balling, and all the multitudinous joys and sor- 
rows of his school-days were each in their turn recalled, 
reflected upon and dismissed. Even earlier recollec- 
tions than these were indulged in, or rather obtruded 
themselves, unsummoned, in a remorseless train, and 
insisted on receiving their due amount of attention and 
investigation. Then he found himself recalling, to the 
minutest particulars, everything that had occurred that 
20 


MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 


21 


same day — the hundred and one incidents, ridiculous 
or insignificant, or both, of the journey, presented them- 
selves anew before his tired brain. The handle of the 
carriage-door, which would not allow itself to be 
turned without an obstinate resistance, the exact posi- 
tion and dimensions of a slit in the cloth of the 
cushion, the boy with a cold in his head who sold 
newspapers, the fat guard who, nevertheless, swung 
himself into his proper compartment with such extra- 
ordinary agility; the single lady with the side curls 
and aggressive umbrella who wanted the window shut, 
the stout gentleman who took snuff and wanted the 
window open. 

These, and many other items too numerous to 
mention, all formed part of a perpetual panorama 
which persistently revolved before his closed eyes and 
destroyed all hope of repose. 

At last, in despair, he rose, and going to the window, 
looked out upon the night. It was a very moonlight 
night — too much so, in fact. There was some- 
thing almost weird and ghastly in its effect. So he 
dropped the blind with a crash,' and went back to 
bed again, hoping that, this time, he might be able to 
sleep. 

But it was the same thing over again. Only this 
time his thoughts took another direction and con- 
centrated themselves upon his family and his home 
life. He remembered, among other things, the bottle 
of Maltby’s Extract, which he had forgotten after all, 
in spite of having pledged himself to take a dose night 
and morning. It occurred to him likewise, with a 
sense of remorse, that he had been a little — only a 
little — irritable at breakfast that morning, and that he 
had spoken rather sharply when interrogated as to the 
purpose of his sudden expedition 


22 


TIIE FATAL REQUEST. 


Perhaps it was foolish of him to have made such a 
mystery of the business. But then, the affair was not 
bis own, and he had no right to abuse another man’s 
confidence. However, he would be returning very 
soon ; the next night would be spent under his own 
roof. He was conscious of experiencing a certain 
relief in this thought. 

Yes, he should be very glad to get back home again, 
and yet 

What was it that had come over him? A vague 

feeling of depression, of disappointment, of He 

had expected — he knew not what — to find, after a 
lapse of twenty years, the same companion he had lost 
so long ago. 

And there had been a coldness, a something in- 
definable and impalpable, as though the ghost of the 
past had been present at the interview, had risen up 
between them when they would have drawn near to 
each other, kept back the words which trembled on 
their lips, and laid its cold hand upon their hearts. 

And then, again, certain of his friend’s sayings had 
grated upon his ear, and caused a chill feeling of dis- 
satisfaction and regret. 

“ Thank God I ” he had said when he heard of the 
deaths of those others, cut off, more than one of them, 
before they had attained their proper span. It seemed 
a cruel thing to say of those who had never injured 
him in any way; whose only fault lay in their too 
intimate acquaintance with the past. True, it was in 
this very same knowledge of the past that all the 
danger lay, but it was a hard, a cruelly hard thing to 
say, nevertheless. At the same time, casting all 
sentiment aside, and looking at the matter from a 
purely philosophical standpoint, there was something 
very remarkable in the fact that in all these six 


MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 


83 


instances death had intervened and carried off the 
most important witnesses, and those whose testimony, 
if called for, would have been most fatal as regarded 
the man who had thanked the Lord when he heard of 
their fate. 

Providence, or fate, or whatever one chose to call it, 
had thus removed all obstacles from his path. All 
but one. 

Mr. Burritt turned uneasily in his bed as he reflected 
upon this, and remembered that he was the only one 
left who knew all. The only one his friend had to 
fear. To fear 1 Surely that was not the right way to 
put it? To fearl Could it be possible that his old 
friend believed that he had cause to fear him ? Could 
he think for a moment, in all seriousness, that he would 
betray him after all these years ? But what had been 
his own words on the subject ? 

“ You can ruin me, Silas, in the eyes of my child, 
as well as in those of the world, whenever you 
please I ” 

The question was, Had he, at the time, really meant 
what he said ? Had he, for an instant, believed him 
capable of such baseness as this ? 

H so — good heavens I it was a dreadful thought — 
would he not have still greater reason to exclaim, 
“ thank God I ” when he heard of his death? 

He scarcely dared to breathe it to himself, but the 
idea, having once occurred, clung to him, and refused to 
be set aside, but returned again and again in spite of 
his steadfastly rejecting it as unworthy and dishonour- 
able. At the same time he found himself wondering 
whether his friend, the object of these painful thoughts, 
who occupied an adjoining room, was also lying awake 
and indulging in unprofitable reflections. Or per- 
haps he was more pleasantly employed in thinking of 


24 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


his daughter ; anticipating their meeting and picturing 
her as she would be after five years’ separation. 
Whatever else he might, or might not be, he was 
evidently an affectionate parent, devoted to this one 
child. 

For all this, Mr. Burritt felt perfectly convinced' in 
his own mind that, whatever the young lady’s per- 
fections of mind and body might be, she was not to be 
compared to his own girl, May, in spite of the latter 
never having been to boarding-school. Just at this 
point he became pleasantly aware of a certain hazi- 
ness and want of continuity in his ideas which he 
hailed with delight. 

He was getting sleepy at last. No dwubt it was 
something which he had eaten at dinner that had 
upset his digestion and filled his mind with all these 
morbid fancies. There was nothing like indigestion 
for making one see everything in a bad light. Per- 
haps, if he had not forgotten the bottle of — what was 
the name of the thing? Somebody’s extract of some- 
thing — to which his wife pinned her faith, and which 
she regarded as a panacea for every evil that the flesh 
was heir to, he might have escaped this bad night. 
There might be something in it after all, and Mr. 
Burritt resolved to give the thing a trial when he 
returned home. That would be to-morrow. Thank 
goodness for that ! After all, there is no place like 
home, especially when you are getting on in life — 
nothing like home, nothing like 

Mr. Burritt was fast asleep, and as he slept he 
dreamed a dream. 

He thought he was lying upon the edge of a 
precipice — a precipice which went sheer down many 
hundreds of feet. But although he occupied such a 
dangerous position he felt no uneasiness at first, only 


MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 


25 


a little gentle surprise as to what he was doing there, 
and a little wonder as to what was going to happen. 

All at once, a great dread fell upon him — an un- 
utterable terror, and he was conscious of a terrible 
danger which menaced him. Then the ground began 
to crumble away beneath him. He tried to draw 
back from the edge of the chasm, but found he could 
neither move hand nor foot. 

Then a hand came up out of the abyss and grasped 
him, drawing him nearer and nearer to the giddy 
verge of the precipice, and he felt himself dragged 
slowly but surely to destruction. In vain he clutched 
at the grass and stones and projections of the cliff; 
he was still drawn on, until, at last, he was poised 
upon the very edge and could look down into the 
depth of the chasm beneath. For a few seconds — 
during which he seemed to experience a lifetime of 
agony — he remained in that awful position. Then he 
felt himself falling — falling from an immeasurable 
height — and woke ! 

He started up, the perspiration standing upon his 
forehead. 

“What a hideous dream,” he thought. “How 
weird — how awful — how real ! I would rather lie 
awake the whole night through than dream just such 
another. I wonder what the time is ? ” 

He felt for his watch and the matches, and struck 
a light. Just half-past three — no more. As he re- 
stored the articles again to their places, he thought he 
heard faint sounds of movement in the next room. 

“Evidently I am not the only restless person,” he 
said to himself, as he lay down again. “ I have a 
companion in misfortune. To-morrow morning we 
shall be able to compare experiences. Suppose I were 
to knock at the wall and speak to him ? But then I 


26 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


might disturb someone else and alarm them. That 
would never do. I expect it must have been the 
cucumber that gave me the nightmare. Cucumber 
never does agree with me, and yet I can’t resist it. I 
can feel myself getting sleepy again. I hope I sha’n’t 
have another such dream; if I do, I’ll never touch 
cucumber any more as long as I live.” His eyes 
closed, and in a few moments his deep and regular 
breathing showed that he had again fallen asleep. 

A few more moments passed in tranquillity, and 
then, had anyone been present — a guardian angel, for 
instance — to watch over his slumbers, it would have 
been noticed that, in a short space of time, the sleeper 
again became troubled, his breathing became laboured, 
and the perspiration broke out upon his forehead. 
For again he dreamt, and the dream was as follows : 

He was lying in his bed, or, at least, so he thought, 
and, after a while, it seemed to him that it became 
very hard and narrow, so that he had no room to move 
in it. It was also very dark. He tried to turn over 
upon his side, but found, as in the other dream, that 
he could stir neither hand nor foot. He lay there 
quite motionless, seeing and hearing nothing, until 
gradually a dreadful sense of oppression settled down 
upon him. It seemed so horrible to have to lie there 
bereft of all power of movement — a mere inanimate log, 
waiting for something, he knew not what, to happen. 
After what appeared to him a long time, he began to 
hear sounds over his head. Faint, indistinguishable 
sounds they were at first. But, after a while, they 
became nearer and clearer. Tap-tap-tap. Sometimes 
in one place, sometimes in another, and at the same 
time he began to experience a difficulty in breathing. 
And still the sound went on — the sound of someone 
hammering — of someone hammering nails 


MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 


27 


The sound of someone hammering nails into a coffin ! 

And with that, all at once, the awful truth broke 
upon him. He was dead, and they were nailing him 
up in his coffin — dead ! 

But was he dead, after all ? How could he be dead 
and still know what was taking place ? It was true 
he could not so much as move a finger, but, for all 

that His heart stopped beating as he grasped 

the full horror of the situation. 

They were burying him alive / Oh, horrible I — 
horrible ! 

In vain he tried to burst the bonds of the insensi- 
bility in which he was held. In vain he made frenzied 
efforts to cry aloud. The most frantic endeavours 
were unavailing. He was unable to utter a sound or 
produce the smallest movement. And all the time 
the hammering went on above his head, and every 
nail, as it was driven home, made his awful doom 
more fatally sure. 

He thought of his family. Were they lamenting his 

loss ? Were they shedding tears ? — and all the while ? 

The hammering had ceased! What was to be the 
next stage in this feast of horrors ? The hammering 
had ceased — all the nails had been driven in. But, 
for all that, it seemed as though someone were trying 
to raise the lid of the coffin. How could this be? 
And yet he was not mistaken! There was a faint, 
creaking sound — a faint glimmer of light was percep- 
tible overhead ! It increased and widened 1 Oh, joy ! 
He was saved — saved ! The coffin-lid was raised little 
by little — higher and higher — in another moment he 
should be free ! 

It was done. He saw a face bending over him — a 
familiar face — the face of an old friend. Already he 
hailed him in his heart as his benefactor, his deliverer. 


28 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Then — what were those words he heard? Words he 
had heard before — when was it ? 

“ You can ruin me whenever you please, but now 
you are in my power ! ” 

The lid was clapped down again, leaving him in 
utter darkness. The hammering began again. He 
tried to shriek aloud for aid — for assistance against 
this monster. But his tongue still refused its office, 
and his limbs remained paralyzed. He felt that he 
was suffocating; his veins began to swell; his eyes 
started from his head. He made one last tremendous 
effort, and woke. Woke to find himself sitting bolt 
upright, with the perspiration streaming from him. 
Woke to find the man, whose voice even now seemed to 
ring in his ears as he bent over the open coffin, standing 
beside his bed, in the faint, grey light of morning. 

Mr. Burritt stared at him as though he had been a 
spectre, while he wondered which was the dream, and 
which was the reality. Indeed, the other looked 
strange and phantom-like as he stood there, half- 
dressed, in the early dawn. 

“What brings you here?” gasped Mr. Burritt, as 
soon as he had realized the fact that the terrible ordeal 
he had just passed through was only a dream. 

Only a dream ! But what a dream ! And what was 
this man doing standing there, and staring down upon 
him in that mysterious manner ? 

“I couldn’t sleep,” was the response, “and I 
couldn’t lie still any longer ; so I came to see whether 
you were awake.” 

“ But,” inquired Mr. Burritt, as he wiped his damp 
brow, “how did you get in? I made sure I had 
fastened the door.” 

“You could not have done so,” said his friend, 
“ else how could I have opened it ? ” 


MIDNIGHT REFLECTIONS. 


29 


Mr. Burritt was puzzled and expressed as much by 
his looks. Why on earth did the man come stealing 
into his room in that strange, uncomfortable manner, 
and at that hour, and for no apparent purpose ? 

Really, this mysterious conduct, coming on the top 
of the most terrible nightmare he had ever known, was 
enough to startle anyone. 

His friend seemed to read what was passing in his 
mind. “ I am sorry if I have disturbed you,” he said, 
slowly ; “ but I could not bear my own thoughts any 
longer, and so I ” He turned to leave the room. 

Mr. Burritt followed him with his eyes. He still 
seemed to him to be part of his dream — his strange, 
horrible dream. Heaven defend him from such 
another ! The mere thought of it made him shudder ! 

Then, as the other man reached the door, and 
passing through it, closed it behind him, he gave' a 
gasp of relief. 

“ I’m glad he’s gone,” he said, as he once more 
reached for his watch. “ A quarter past four. What 
a night I have had ! ” he murmured. “ I wish it were 
over.” 

He gave another glance in the direction of the door. 
The next moment he had crossed the floor and turned 
the key in the lock. 

“I could have sworn I had locked it before,” he 
said to himself. “ At anyrate there shall be no mis- 
take this time,” as he shot the bolt to make matters 
doubly sure. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE CLAW OF A LOBSTEB. 


S a rule breakfast at Magnolia Lodge, Dulwich 



iA. — the residence of Mr. Silas Burritt — was an 
exceedingly pleasant meal, taking place, as it did, in a 
light and cheerful apartment, looking onto the garden, 
with a glass door opening right upon the lawn. The 
morning, too, of the day after that on which the head 
of the family took his departure on that mysterious 
business which, at the time, had considerably exercised 
the minds of at least two members of his family, was 
one of the loveliest of all the spring. For all that, the 
fineness of the weather appeared to have produced 
little or no effect on the minds of those who now sat 
round the breakfast table and inhaled the combined 
aroma of the young growing plants without and the 
concomitants of the matutinal meal within. 

Of the three faces which surrounded the board, two, 
at least, were troubled, not to say sulky, and of these 
two one sought to find some relief from his too evident 
ill-humour in abusing the viands. 

“Eggs and bacon!” he exclaimed, regarding the 
dish before him with most unusual and unwarrantable 
disfavour. “ Can’t they hit upon something else for 
breakfast besides eggs and bacon? We’ve had the 
same thing every morning this week, and I’m sick of 


“ Why, Ted ! ” said his sister, who sat opposite to him, 
rousing herself from a profound reverie in which she 
had been plunged, and during which she had intro- 


30 


THE CLAW OF A LOBSTER. 


31 


duced several foreign substances into her coffee, “it 
was only yesterday you were saying there was nothing 
you liked better for breakfast.” 

“ If there is one thing that annoys me more than 
another,” was the irritable response, “it is to be re- 
minded of what I said yesterday, or the day before. 
What on earth has that got to do with it ? I’m not 
bound to like the same thing two days’ running, am 
I? I may have liked eggs and bacon for breakfast 
yesterday, but I’m quite at liberty to detest them to-day 
for all that. It’s just like a girl, they think no one 
ought to be allowed to change their minds but 
themselves.” 

“Well, you needn’t be so cross,” was the natural 
remark on the foregoing speech. 

“I beg to differ from you there,” was the contrary 
reply; “ and, what’s more, I’m not cross.” 

“My dears,” came in a mild voice from the direc- 
tion of the urn, “you’re not quarrelling, are you? be- 
cause you know your father wouldn’t like it.” 

“ Quarrelling ! the idea of such a thing ! ” answered 
the young lady, indignantly; “ I was only telling Ted 
not to be so cross about nothing at all.” 

“ Well, I like that ! ” put in the young man. “ But, 
of course, that’s just like a girl all over ! Gets out of 
bed the wrong side herself, and then accuses other 
people of being cross.” 

“ My dears,” repeated the mild voice from the head 
of the table, “it really does sound very much as 
though you were quarrelling; and you know your 
dear father ” 

At this second reference to her other parent, his 
daughter, who had been meditating a crushing rejoin- 
der to her brother’s latest insult, sighed and helped 
herself to another lump of sugar instead; and the 


32 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


masculine delinquent, discomfited at being let off thus 
easily, made a violent and unpremeditated assault 
upon the dish containing the objectionable ingredients. 

Silence reigned for the space of about a minute, at 
the end of which time the young man, addressing his 
sister, remarked, “ I don’t know whether you find 
it improves the flavour, but that’s the second time 
you’ve put salt into your coffee to my knowledge, not 
to mention seven lumps of sugar.” 

His sister gave an exclamation of disgust. “ How 
horrid of you not to tell me ! I was wondering all the 
time what made it taste so strange — what a disagree- 
able old thing you are ! ” 

“ My dears,” said Mrs. Burritt, breaking into the 
conversation again, as it reached this critical point, 
“I wish you’d try these globules.” And the good 
lady produced a tiny bottle containing a number of 
minute white balls, a couple of which she proceeded 
to swallow with much relish. 

“What’s the good of them?” inquired her son, 
somewhat superciliously. 

“ Oh, they’re capital things ! There’s nothing like 
them for indigestion — or asthma, I forget which ; but 
I know they are the best things you can take for one 
or the other.” 

“But I didn’t know you suffered from either of 
those complaints,” said the young man, looking 
puzzled. 

“ No, dear,” was the placid response, “ I am thank- 
ful to say I do not. But then, you never know what 
you may have ; and I don’t believe in putting off taking 
the medicine until you’ve got the disease. Now, I 
take the medicine first, and then I’m all ready for it. 
That’s what I call taking Time by the what d’you 
call it? ” she concluded, rather vaguely. 


THE CLAW OF A LOBSTER. 


33 


“And after all,” she added, either as an after- 
thought or an additional recommendation, “ they’re 
really very nice, nothing at all disagreeable in the 
taste, as there is in some medicines.” And she looked 
affectionately at the bottle. 

“Well, mater,” was the dutiful response, “if I feel 
myself getting at all short-winded or out of sorts, I’ll 
try a handful ; as it is, you’d better give a dozen or 
two to May. She’s as dull as ditch-water.” 

The damsel thus alluded to was staring straight in 
front of her at nothing in particular, with a most 
distressful countenance, and appeared quite uncon- 
scious of the remark just passed upon her. At any- 
rate there was no such withering reply as might have 
been anticipated ; and the rest of the meal passed, if 
not in peace, at least in quietness. Some time after- 
wards her brother came upon her as she stood looking 
out of a window, with the same perplexed, absent 
expression on her face. 

“ What’s the matter, old lady ? ” he inquired. 

There was no answer and the question was accord- 
ingly repeated, .with the addition of a gentle shake. 
This proceeding proved more successful, for she turned 
round upon him and asked, with a mixture of indig- 
nation and pathos, “What’s the good of telling you? 
You’ll only laugh and make fun of me?” 

“ No, I won’t. ” 

“ Yes, you will ; I know you will ! ” 

“ Look here, May, I give you my solemn word I 
won’t so much as smile.” 

“Will you promise ? ” 

“I swear it” — catching up a tennis racket which 
lay conveniently at hand — “I swear, on this most 
appropriate article, not to make any sort of game of 
you 1 ” 


8 


34 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ There you are,” complained the girl, “ you’re 
beginning already ; I knew you would. Put the thing 
down, or I won’t speak another word — and that 
reminds me, what made you in such a bad temper at 
breakfast ? ” 

“ One thing at a time,” was the reply. “ I want to 
know why you’re moping about the place in this 
fashion? ” 

“ Well,” she began, speaking very slowly and 
dragging her words out one by one, “ I had a dream 
last night. That is ” 

“ Is that all?” was the scornful interruption ; “ why, 
what a goose ” 

“ You might have waited until I’d finished,” she 
interrupted, in her turn. “ It was a horrid dream — at 
least it was more than that, and it was about father.” 

This time she saw that she had produced some 
effect. The young man plunged his hands into his 
pockets and gave a low whistle, indicative of surprise, 
or interest, or perplexity, or all three. 

“ That’s rum, now,” he remarked. 

His sister stared at him in open mouthed astonish- 
ment. He was actually taking the matter seriously ; 
then, “ Go on,” he said. 

“ Well,” she continued, considerably impressed by 
his manner, “ I thought — that is to say, I dreamt — 
that he was in some great danger. I didn’t know 
what it was, or how, or why, or anything at all about it 
beyond the bare fact. But it was something dreadful, 
and I woke up in a fright, and, whenever I fell asleep, 
I dreamt the same thing again. Sometimes I seemed 
to see him, and there was always something in the 
background — something hanging over him — something 
dark and dreadful ! ” And she gave a convulsive 
shudder and looked at her brother in mute inquiry, as 


THE CLAW OF A LOBSTER. 35 

though asking him what was his opinion on the sub- 
ject. 

“That’s queer,” he said again. “However,” he 
continued, seeing that something more than this was 
expected of him, “ of course it doesn’t mean anything. 
It was only a dream.” 

“ I know that,” answered the girl, with the air of 
one who was trying hard to convince herself of the 
truth of what she said, “ but it makes me feel un- 
comfortable — I don’t know how. I wish father were 
home.” 

“Oh! he’ll be back to-night — sure to,” remarked 
the young man, consolingly. “And, anyhow, it’s no 
good your worrying.” 

“ I know that,” she answered for the second time, 
“ and I’m not worrying. At least — only it was such a 
horrid dream, and I kept dreaming it over and 
over again. Why ” — suddenly ‘confronting him — 
“you said it was rum yourself. What did you mean 
by that? ” 

Her brother looked slightly disconcerted. “Oh! 
nothing,” he said. 

“ Now, I call that mean,” was the reply, “ and after 
my telling you my dream and all ! ” 

“ Oh ! well then, if you must know, I had rather a 
strange experience myself last night.” 

“What was that?” — with intense and feverish 
interest. 

“Why, I thought — at least, I was sure of it at the 
time — that I heard someone call me.” 

“ Someone call you ! ” 

“Yes,” he went on, avoiding her eye as much as 
possible. “ Of course, it was only a dream, like yours 
— but it woke me right up in the middle of the night, 
or, rather, early in the morning.” 


3 — 2 


36 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ Who — who did you think it was? ” asked the girl, 
in a low, awe-struck voice, as though she knew what 
the answer would be. 

“That’s the queer part of it,” was the reply, as he 
unconsciously lowered his voice to the same pitch. 
“ It was the guv’nor’s voice, as plain as ever I heard it 
in my life.” 

“ Ted ! ” — in a wondering, half terrified tone. 

The speaker nodded his head in answer to the ex- 
clamation. 

‘ ‘ That was why I said it was ‘ rum ’ when you men- 
tioned your dream. Not that I think anything of it, 
mind you ! — impressively ; “ but, as a coincidence, it 
certainly is — well, singular.” 

She bent her head in assent. 

“ What did you do when you thought — when you 
heard the voice ? ” she asked, after a pause. 

“Well, you know,” he said, half apologetically, 
“ only being half awake, and not knowing exactly what 
I was about, I started up in bed and called out : ‘ All 
right, guv’nor. Do you want anything ? ” You see,” 
he added, by way of excuse, “ I was so certain I heard 
him call me, that I quite forgot, for the moment, that 
he was away at the time.” 

“ Where — where did the voice seem to come from ? ” 
was the question put with eager lips and wide-open, 
startled eyes. 

“Just outside the room,” he answered. “It was 
just as though he were calling to me through the door. 
But you needn’t look like that. It was only a dream, 
you know. Though ” — with a somewhat embarrassed 
laugh, as at his own folly — “ I must say I was such a 
donkey as to get up and open the door. No, of 
course »ot ” — anticipating the question “which he felt 
was about to be put to him — “ of course there was no 


THE CL A W OF A LOBSTER. 


37 


one there. How could there be ? I’m sorry now that 
I told you about it.” 

“ Oh, Ted ! ” 

“ Well, then, don’t be a goose.” 

“I’m not.” 

“ Yes, you are.” 

“ And you’re a horrid What time was it ? ” — with 

a sudden alteration of tone and instantaneous harking 
back to the original subject — “I mean, when you 
heard — you know what I mean ? ” 

“ Well,” was the answer, “as it happened, I looked 
at my watch, just to ” 

“ Never mind why you did it,” put in his sister, in a 
commanding tone — “I don’t want your reasons — I 
want to know what time it was ? ” 

“Why, as I was saying when you interrupted me, I 
looked at my watch — it was just light enough for me 
to be able to make out the position of the hands ” 

“Well?” 

“It was exactly a quarter past four.” 

“ A quarter past four ! ” She repeated the words 
after him absently; then — “ Was that all? ” 

“All! To be sure it was. What more did you 
expect ? ” 

“ And was that the reason you were so bad tempered 
at breakfast and found fault with everything? ” 

“Well” — rather sheepishly — “I don't like things 
I can’t understand, and I can’t in the least under- 
stand what it was that woke me up at a quarter 
past four this morning, and dragged me out of bed for 
nothing.” 

“ Perhaps it was a — a warning? ” his sister ventured 
to remark. 

“A warning! What of, I should like to know? 
Don’t you talk such nonsense ! ” 


38 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ A warning of something going to happen to some- 
body,” she added, with vague solemnity. 

“ A warning not to eat lobster for supper. By 
Jove ! ” — with a sudden outburst of excitement — “ I’d 
clean forgotten that ! Of course it was the lobster ! 
Catch me ever taking lobster for supper again ! That 
accounts for your dream, old lady,” clapping her on 
the shoulder boisterously; “take my advice, and 
virtuously avoid it for the future, as I intend to do.” 

“But I didn’t have any,” she objected — “that is, 
only one claw.” 

“ And it was just that * one claw ’ that did the mis- 
chief,” he retorted, sagely ; “ only you girls are so 
sentimental — you hate to put anything down to in- 
digestion, it sounds so unromantic ; so you call it by 
all sorts of names — nerves, or palpitations, or sick 
headache — anything rather than confess you’ve over- 
eaten yourselves.” 

“ I suppose you mean to insinuate that I am in the 
habit of overeating myself?” was the indignant re- 
sponse to this deadly insult. 

“ Oh, you’re all alike,” he replied, impartially, and 
quite unmoved ; “ I’m sure the way you all stuff your- 
selves with chocolate creams and other nasty messes 
is something awful.” 

“ Chocolate creams are better than horrid smelling 
tobacco, at anyrate, and ” 

There is no knowing how much longer this heated 
discussion might have been prolonged, but, for the 
second time in this narrative, the conversation was 
interrupted by a loud double knock, which resounded 
through the house. 

“That can’t be the postman,” said Ted Burritt; 
“ I’ll go and see what it is,’ and he darted from the 
room, to reappear the next moment with one of those 


THE CLAW OF A LOBSTER. 


3) 


ominous, orange envelopes, the mere sight of which is 
enough to upset the mental equilibrium of some 
people. 

“ Bet you anything you like it’s from the guv’nor ! ” 
he cried. “ At anyrate, I’d better open it — the mater 
always goes into fits whenever she sees a telegram.” 

He did so, and after perusing the contents himself, 
held it out in triumph. 

“ Just what I said — ■* Am returning to-day by the 
4-30 train. Shall be at home to dinner. Friend 
accompanies me. — S. Burritt.’ 

“How about your dream now?” — quite ignoring, 
with the usual masculine inconsistency, his own share 
in the matter. “ By-the-by, I wonder who the friend 
is ? Suppose it’s the same the letter came from. You 
see,” he continued, triumphantly, “it was the lobster, 
after all, that served us both out. Your claw settled 
on your chest, and gave you the nightmare — mine 
hauled me out of bed.” 

“And what about the coincidence you spoke of?” 
asked Miss Burritt, severely. 

“Coincidence be hanged!” was the ribald reply; 
“and the next time I see a lobster, if I don’t shy 
something at it ” 


CHAPTER V, 


“THE seoeet lies between tjs two.” 

A BOUT the same time, on the same morning, Mr. 

Silas Burritt, and his friend, whose inoognito 
is still preserved, were seated at breakfast together. 

In the clear light of day, in the presence of the most 
appetising viands, the former gentleman found his 
mind completely divested of all those gloomy and 
distrustful thoughts and suspicions which had caused 
him so much disquietude previously, to say nothing 
of having ruined his night’s rest. It was astonish- 
ing what a widely different view he took of the matter 
as he discussed this early meal. His heart warmed 
anew towards his old friend, who sat facing him, and 
who also appeared to more advantage under these 
more cheerful circumstances. 

“It is quite understood that you return with me 
and stop at least one night,” he remarked, genially. 
“ In fact, there is no escape for you, as I have already 
dispatched a telegram to let them know at home that 
I am bringing a friend back with me.” 

“ You are very good, Silas,” was the reply, “ and 
for one night, at least, I will accept your hospitality.” 

“ And you must come and stay with us while you 
are looking about for a house — make us your head- 
quarters, you know. I’ve no doubt that the two girls, 
yours and mine, will be bosom friends in less than no 
time ; and as for my boy Ted, he’ll be head over heels 
in love with your daughter — if she’s anything like your 
description — li efore we know where we are. Ha, ha ! 
I shouldn’t be a bit surprised — the young dog 1 ” and 
40 


“THE SECRET LIES BETWEEN US TWO .« 41 


his father laughed aloud, delighted at his own perspi- 
cacity. “By-the-way, Jim,” relapsing into a more 
serious vein, “ that wouldn’t be half a bad idea — your 
girl and my boy — eh ? ” 

The other looked at him intently. “ You mean it?” 
he asked. 

“ Mean it ? Of course I do. Why not ? ” 

“In spite of — of everything that has gone before?” 

“ Good heavens, man ! what has the past got to do 
with your innocent daughter? That would be visiting 
the sins of the fathers upon the children with a ven- 
geance.” 

The other man looked at his friend, and his habitu- 
ally stern face softened. “ You are very generous,” he 
said ; “ more generous than I have a right to expect.” 

“Come, come,” answered Mr. Burritt, “don’t talk 
like that, for heaven’s sake ; don’t let us begin it all 
over again. Your secret — such as it is — and this is 
the last allusion I intend to make, or allow you to 
make, to it — lies between us two ; which is the same 
thing as saying that it is perfectly safe. And I beg 
you to believe that, as far as that is concerned, you may 
look upon me as being as much a dead man as those 
others we spoke of last night, and my tongue as little 
likely to work you harm as though I already lay in 
my coffin.” 

The moment he had spoken these last words he 
wished them recalled. He remembered his awful 
dream of the night before, and shuddered slightly. 

“Ugh!” he said to himself, “what an unlucky — 
what an idiotic remark ! Whatever possessed me to 
make it?” 

It was therefore more for the sake of giving the 
conversation a more cheerful turn, than for any other 
reason, that he said — 


42 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ I think you made some remark last night to the 
effect that you had made a large fortune. If so, I am 
sincerely glad to hear it.” 

“ Yes,” was the indifferent reply; “ I am, compara- 
tively speaking, what you would call a wealthy man, 
and my daughter will be an heiress in her way.” 

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Mr. Burritt, 
heartily ; “ and at the same time — not that I wish to 
boast — I may also say that I have not done badly 
myself. I have made my pile, too — not such a large 
one as yours, probably ; but, at anyrate, I have the 
satisfaction of knowing that, if anything should happen 
to me” — this with an accession of seriousness — “I 
should leave my family well provided for. I have had 
my ups and downs as well as others ; but I have no 
fear of the future.” 

He spoke these last words quite confidently, uncon- 
scious of the ignorance and rashness of the assertion. 

“By-the-way,” he continued, after a while, “are 
you a bad sleeper, as a rule? or was last night an 
exception, as in my own case ? ” 

“ It was no exception, unfortunately for me.” was 
the answer. “ I am a wretched sleeper, and last night 
was worse than usual. At the same time ” — with an 
air of restraint, or awkwardness — “ I had no business 
to disturb you in the way I did.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” said Mr. Burritt, carelessly, 
forgetting the very different light in which the affair 
had appeared to him at the time of its occurrence. 
“ Though you gave me rather a start at the moment, 
on waking up suddenly as I did, and from a very bad 
dream.” 

“ I thought you seemed rather restless and uneasy 
in your sleep,” was the reply. 

Mr. Burritt found himself again giving way to a 


“ THE SECRET LIES BETWEEN US TWO.” 43 


certain amount of inward dissatisfaction. He wondered 
how long his friend had been standing gazing down at 
him, while he himself had remained all unconscious of 
the scrutiny. There was something in this he did not 
like. He had no right to take him at such a disadvan- 
tage, and Mr. Burritt turned uneasily in his chair. 
What could he have wanted with him? And supposing 

he had not chanced to wake when he did, what ? 

Pshaw ! There he was again, giving way to all sorts 
of senseless surmises. 

He smoothed his brow and turned again to his friend. 

“ Insomnia is one of the greatest curses I know, 
though, as a rule, I do not suffer much from it myself. 
But if, like Macbeth, ‘ you have murdered sleep,’ you 
are much to be pitied.” 

The other man started at the ill sounding word. 

“Murdered!” he exclaimed; then — “I beg your 
pardon,” he muttered, somewhat confusedly, “I did 
not take your meaning at first ; in fact, I have almost 
forgotten my Shakespeare.” 

“ I beg yours,” said Mr. Burritt ; “ the quotation was 
most inapt. I had also forgotten, for the moment, that 
it was to the murder of Duncan that Macbeth referred — 
the assassination of the poor old man in his sleep.” 

Later on in the day, just before starting to the 
station, Mr. Burritt, on looking at his watch, noticed 
that it had stopped. Then he remembered that he 
had forgotten to bring his watch key, and had, con- 
sequently, been obliged to omit the ceremony of 
winding it up the night before. It occurred to him 
that his friend, who was packing his portmanteau in 
the next room, might be able to supply the deficiency. 

He left his own room and knocked at the door of 
the one adjoining. But the occupant of the apart- 
ment, whom he heard moving about within, apparently 


44 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


did not hear the knock, so, after waiting a few seconds, 
he turned the handle and entered. 

The other was standing in front of the dressing 
table and with his back to the door, so that his actions 
were reflected in the mirror. He was dressed, all but 
his coat, and was carefully examining some article 
which caught the light as he turned it over in his hand. 
He wheeled round suddenly, with a quick frown, on 
hearing the sound of the opening of the door and 
Mr. Burritt’s involuntary exclamation of alarm when 
he saw how his friend was employed. 

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, “what are you 
doing with that thing? ” 

“My dear fellow,” said the other, regaining his 
composure instantaneously, “ what on earth are you 
making such a fuss about? Did you never see a 
revolver before ? ” 

“ Of course I have,” answered Mr. Burritt, some- 
what indignantly. “ But there, for goodness sake put 
the thing down. I hate to see you trifling with it in 
that way*. It gives me the cold shivers.” 

“ Silas ! ” exclaimed the other, mockingly, “ I’m 
ashamed of you. Anyone would take you to be one of 
those nervous young ladies who always scream at the 
sight of fire-arms. Why, the thing isn’t even loaded ! ” 

Mr. Burritt gave a sigh of relief and ventured to 
draw a little nearer. 

“ That’s a comfort,” he said. “ If you only knew how 
I felt when I opened the door, and saw you standing 
before the looking glass with that thing in your hands 
you wouldn’t be surprised at my calling out as I did.” 

“You alarmed yourself unnecessarily. I assure you 
I have not the slightest intention of blowing my brains 
out. Why on earth should I ? I was merely examin- 
ing the thing to see that it was all right.” 


THE SECRET LIES BETWEEN US TWO. 45 


“ But — but,” stammered Mr. Burritt, far from 
reassured, “you don’t mean to say that you are in 
the habit of carrying fire-arms about with you? ” 

“ My dear fellow,” mimicked the other, “ I don’t 
merely say it, I do it.” 

“ But why ? ” was the question. 

“Why?” he replied. “In cas3 of emergencies. 
You never know when you may need it, and I should 
never think of travelling without something of the 
sort.” 

“You mean to say,” persisted Mr. Burritt, “that 
you carry it about your person ? ” 

The other nodded. “ I have a special pocket made 
on purpose for it.” 

“But,” interposed Mr. Burritt, still looking and 
feeling far from comfortable, “surely you won’t want 
it to-day? It is not as though you were travelling 
alone, and ” 

“How do I know that?” was the reply, given 
with a species of grim jocosity. * How can I be sure 
that you won’t set upon me in a tunnel and beat my 
brains out with your carpet bag?” Then, becoming 
serious all at once, “Look here!” he said, “I’ve 
lived a rough sort of life, in a wild part of the world, 
for the last twenty years. I’ve seen men shot down 
by my side, in a refreshment saloon, more than once, 
and more than once had a narrow escape from a 
similar fate myself. In fact ” — sinking his voice — “ I 
don’t mind owning to you that on one occasion I have 
killed my man — in self-defence mind,” he added, 
hastily, seeing the look of horror which, for a moment, 
overspread his friend’s face. “ In self-defence,” he re- 
peated, with emphasis, “and with the odds three to one. 
Where should I have been then but for my revolver ? 
As it was 1 cleared the world of, at least, one ruffian.’ 


46 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ And no one — I mean ” 

“ No one thought any the worse of me, I assure you. 
Indeed,” — with a faint smile, the first Mr. Burritt had 
seen upon his face, lurking for a moment round the 
corners of his mouth — “I even had a testimonial 
presented to me by some of the leading citizens of the 
place, thanking me for ridding them of such a 
pestilent character as ‘Black Jake,’ which was the 
name the villain went by. Oh, I assure you,” he 
continued, “ that particular crime — if you like to call 
it so — sits verykgktly on my conscience. So much 
so, indeed, that when I look back, I am in the habit 
of including it among the list of my few good deeds.” 

Mr. Burritt heard him throughout with astonish- 
ment, mingled with a faint sensation of horror. It 
seemed hard to credit that the calm, middle-aged, 
well dressed man before him — his own contemporary 
— had passed through such an experience as this ; and 
that the hand which he had shaken with so much 
cordiality had blood upon it ! It might be true, as he 
said, and who could doubt his word for an instant ? 
that it was only in self-defence. But, to Mr. Burritt’s 
placid and somewhat commonplace mind there was 
something terrible and revolting in the idea. 

“ Thank God ! ” he cried, “ that we have nothing of 
this sort in England. There is no shooting people 
down in refreshment saloons in this country ! ” 

“ Perhaps not,” was the caustic reply ; “ but, for all 
that, it struck me, on looking at the paper this morning, 
that you had got your own share of most of the crimes 
going — and plenty of * Black Jakes,’ or their equivalents, 
too.” 

“ Very likely,” said Mr. Burritt, with eyes still fixed 
on the revolver. “By-the-way, would you mind 
telling me — is that the same weapon that you used on 


“THE SECRET LIES BETWEEN US TWO” 47 


that occasion you were speaking of — I mean when you 
shot the other — er — individual ? ” 

“ Meaning 1 Black Jake ’ ? Yes, I’m happy to say it 
is the very same.” 

Mr. Burritt felt that he somehow regarded the 
article in question with less favour than ever. 

“ I suppose there isn’t the least likelihood of its 
going off unexpectedly ? ” he inquired, diffidently. 

“Not unless I pull the trigger,” was the careless 
response, “ and I’m not likely to do that, unless you 
attack me first.” 

The joke — if joke it were — struck Mr. Burritt as 
being in singular bad taste. 

“ I must say,” he repeated, with a little perceptible 
irritation in his manner, “ that, in this instance, I 
don’t see the necessity for ” 

“Very likely you don’t,” interrupted the other, 
resuming his coat ; “ but if you had been in the habit 
of carrying it about your person for as many years as 
I have, and always been accustomed to sleep with it 
under your pillow, you would think no more of carrying 
a revolver than you would an umbrella or a watch.” 

This remark served to remind Mr. Burritt of his 
original errand. He therefore explained the reason of his 
intrusion, and having been accommodated by the loan 
of the desired article, turned to leave the room again. 

He hesitated for a moment on the threshold and 
cast another glance over his shoulder at his friend, 
who was doing something to the cherished weapon with 
a bit of oily rag. The latter looked up and met it. 

“You don’t really mean, Silas, that you are afraid 
to trust yourself in my company now that you know I 
carry a revolver ? ” he asked, with another sudden 
frown. “ You don’t surely ? ” 

“ My dear James,” interrupted Mr. Burritt, hastily, 


48 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ yon must know very well that it isn’t that. But the 
truth of the matter is, I’ve a great aversion to fire- 
arms. No doubt you’ll despise me for owning it, but 
I’ve never been able to prevail upon myself to fire a 
pistol, or anything of the kind, under any circumstances 
— partly owing to a sad accident which I once wit- 
nessed, and which I will relate to you another time. 
When I was young, I put my trust in my fists ; now 
that I am getting old, I call a policeman. Still, if 
you will assure me that the weapon isn’t loaded, 
I’ll ” 

“ I’ll assure you of that or anything else that will add 
to your peace of mind,” was the somewhat equivocal 
reply. “At anyrate, it isn’t loaded now; and, what 
is more, I will also give you my word that I will not 
attempt to blow out my brains during the journey — or,” 
he added, as a sort of afterthought, “ anyone else’s.” 

Mr. Burritt went back to his room where he wound 
up his watch and set it right. “I wish,” he said to 
himself, “ that I had not left my own key at home. 
If I had not done so, my watch would not have stopped. 
If my watch had not stopped, I should not have re- 
quired to borrow a key. If I had not required a key, 
I should not have needed to go to his room for that 
purpose. If I had not gone to his room, I should not 
have seen the revolver ; and if I had not seen the re- 
volver, I should feel much easier in my mind. It 
sounds rather like ‘ The House that Jack Built,’ ” he 
reflected, as he arrived at the conclusion of the argu- 
ment, “ but I’ve a presentiment that the revolver will 
get someone into trouble before it-’s done with.” 

When Mr. Burritt and his friend arrived at the 
station, the latter took a considerable amount of 
trouble to insure a separate compartment to themselves 
— in fact, Mr. Burritt rather fancied he saw him give 


“ THE SECRET LIES BETWEEN US TWO .” 49 

something to the guard, who thereupon locked the door 
upon them, and consigned them to a solitude a deux. 

The carriage in question, it may be worth remem- 
bering, was the fourth from the engine. 

“ I wonder,” thought Mr. Burritt to himself as the 
train steamed out of the station, “ which is the pocket 
he carries the revolver in?” Then his thoughts 
wandered away from the actual present. “ I suppose I 
shall find them all right at home. Dear, dear, anyone 
would think I had been away a month. What an old 
fogey I’m getting ! But, somehow, I haven’t felt like 
myself ever since I received that letter. There has been 
a weight — an oppressive feeling — almost amounting to 
a presentiment. And then, that dream ! But there’s 
no need to dwell upon that. I’ve quite made up my 
mind it was the cucumber. By-the-by, I wonder what 
James is thinking about? he looks uncommonly 
gloomy. I wish he’d say something instead of staring 
out of the window in stony silence. Dear me, to 
think hnw he’s changed ! — but no wonder, what with 
the recollection of that old trouble always rising up 
before him, and the life he’s led. But I wish he 
hadn’t told me about that other man — ‘Black Jake,’ 
he called him. Somehow, one doesn’t like the notion 
of riding alone with a man who has shed another 
man’s blood, especially when he carries a revolver. I 
wonder whether he’s thinking of that, or what? ” 

If Mr. Burritt could have read what was passing in 
his companion’s mind, he would have been amazed to 
find that, instead of dwelling upon the past, he was 
merely repeating over and over to himself the words 
which the former had spoken only a few hours before — 
“ The secret lies between us two ! The secret lies 
between us two I ” 


4 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE 4-30 TB AIN. 

INNER at Magnolia Lodge had been ordered for 



-U a quarter to eight, in order to suit the conve- 
nience of the travellers, who were expected to arrive at 
about that hour. 

As the time drew on, Mrs. Burritt suddenly became 
troubled agai\t in her mind concerning the soap dish. 

“ I do wish, after all, I had ordered the best spare 
bedroom to be got ready, though I’ve generally con- 
sidered the second best good enough for a single gentle- 
man, and I suppose he is a single gentleman. But for 
all that ” 

“ Here they are ! ” suddenly cried her daughter May, 
who was watching from the window. 

“ Well, it’s too late to make any change now,” 
sighed her parent, half relieved at having the matter 
summarily settled; “ and perhaps he won’t notice the 
crack. I do hope my cap is on straight I ” 

The said cap was, as usual, considerably out of the 
perpendicular ; but as it happened, its lack of rectitude 
was, in this instance, of no particular consequence, for 
the alarm proved false, and the cab, which had at 
first appeared as though about to draw up before the 
house, resumed its snail-like crawl and gradually dis- 
appeared. 

Then came another spell of waiting. 

“They must have missed their train at London 
Bridge,” said Ted Burritt. “Perhaps the other one 


60 


THE JfSO TRAIN.. 


51 


was late. I’ve looked in ‘Bradshaw,’ and see that it’s 
due in town at seven o’clock. If so, they ought to be 
here by this time.” 

“ Dear me!” lamented Mrs. Burritt. “ If they’re 
not here soon dinner will be spoilt and cook in such a 
temper ! I don’t know really how it is,” she continued, 
in a mildly, speculative tone of voice, “ whether it’s the 
soups or the jellies that do it, but she certainly does 
seem to get more and more hot-tempered every day, 
and the crosser she is, the more pepper she uses in 
cooking. I’m afraid that if I ask her to put back 
dinner for another half-hour or so, everything will be 
so hot that we sha’n’t be able to eat it. However, I 
must say I had it all in her character. ‘ A good cook, 
but fiery,’ was what her last mistress said, and * fiery ’ 
is just the right word for it. I’m sure there are times, 
when she’s preserving — particularly if it happens to be 
greengages, though why greengages more than plums, 
I can’t possibly tell — when I wouldn’t venture into the 
kitchen for anything you could mention. Well” — 
afraid lest she might have been too severe upon this 
disciple of the culinary art — “ I daresay it comes from 
hanging over the kitchen fire so much. Very likely I 
should get like it myself, if I had to be stewing over 
saucepans hah the day.” 

This remark coming, as it did, from one whose 
unruffled amiability under all circumstances (in spite 
of a long course of patent medicines, swallowed with 
profound faith and the intention of warding off those 
various ailments to which fallen humanity is subject) 
remained unimpaired, and was recognized even by the 
aforesaid cook herself, would at any other time have 
been received by her son and daughter with affection- 
ate derision. As it was, their attention was too much 
occupied in another direction to allow of their paying 

4 — 2 


52 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


any heed to the somewhat irrelevant remarks of their 
maternal parent. 

That good lady, not in the least degree put out by 
the lack of interest with which her last utterances had 
been received, was about to take up the parable again 
when she was prevented by an ominous message — 
“ If you please, ma’am, can cook speak to you for a 
moment? ” 

Mrs. Burritt turned perceptibly paler and clutched 
the back of her chair for support. Then, with an 
attempt at composure, said, “ Certainly, Jane, if she 
has anything she wants to say to me,” and after an 
appealing glance at her children, which seemed to say, 
“See what trials I, your mother, have to endure! 
What deadly encounters fall to my share ! ” she left 
the room with an air of pious resignation. 

The glance, however, like the short homily which 
had preceded it, failed in its effect, for the simple 
reason that the two for whom it was intended were 
occupied, the one in still turning over the pages of his 
“Bradshaw,” the other in still watching for the expected 
arrivals. No other cab, however, appeared in sight, 
nor any pedestrians bearing a resemblance to those 
anxiously looked for. 

Neither of the two spoke for some moments. Then, 
the young man, addressing his sister rather irritably, 
said, “ What on earth’s the good of staring out of the 
window like that ? That won’t bring them here any 
the sooner.” 

She turned round upon him. “What’s the use of 
your poring over ‘ Bradshaw ’ all this time ? That won’t 
prevent the train from being late.” 

• “ May,” cried her brother, shutting up the volume 
in question and tossing it away, “ I wish — but never 
mind.” 


THE 4' 30 TRAIN. 


53 


“I wonder,” said the girl, “whether you wish the 
same thing I wish.” 

Just then Mrs. Burritt re-entered the room, smiling 
faintly and looking much relieved. “ It’s all right, my 
dears. I’ve arranged it all with cook, and she was 
really quite nice about it and thinks it can be done, 
though she has her doubts about the fish and doesn’t 
know what to say about the spinach ; but she’ll do her 
best. Beally, after all, she is an excellent woman, 
and her apple fritters make up for a good many short- 
comings. I didn’t like to say anything about the pepper 
as she had behaved so well, but I do hope she won’t 
be carried away by her feelings at the last moment, 
as she has been before now and brought the tears 
into my eyes with her jugged hare, just as though it 
were one of dear Mr. Brigginshaw’s charity sermons.” 

The next half-hour slowly ticked itself away with- 
out bringing any change in the position of affairs. 
The girl, with her face pressed against the window 
pane, still maintained her fruitless watch. The young- 
man, with his hands plunged deep into his pockets 
and a steadily increasing gloominess of countenance, 
lounged against a corner of the mantelpiece with his 
eyes fixed upon the carpet, the pattern of which he 
apparently studied with great interest. He found 
himself carefully reckoning up the number of different 
shades of colour which it contained and attentively 
following the geometrical intricacies of its pattern. 
He did not remember ever having noticed the pattern 
before, but now he busied himself in conscientiously 
tracing out the scrolls and intersecting fines and curves 
of which it consisted. 

There was one particular device which recurred at 
regular intervals of about half a yard, something like a 
Maltese cross in shape, and these he felt, all at once, 


54 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


compelled to count. He was vacantly conscious of an 
increasing sense of anxiety and depression within. 
Why did they not come ? Surely, if they had missed 
one train, there had been plenty of time to catch the 
next? But, at the same time, those maddening 
Maltese crosses had to be reckoned up, with due allow- 
ance for those which were concealed from view by the 
different articles of furniture. Altogether, it was a 
very complicated calculation, and he had not suc- 
ceeded in completing it to his satisfaction when the 
clock chimed the half-hour, and, at the same moment, 
a similar interruption to that which had already 
occurred took place. But this time the message ran — 

“ If you please, ’m, cook wants to know what she is 
to do about dinner ! ” 

Mrs. Burritt started nervously. “ I’m sure I don’t 
know, Jane.” Then, appealing to her son, “ I suppose 
there’s no mistake about the day ? Your dear father 
didn’t mean to-morrow? ” 

Her son, thus compelled to relinquish his calcula- 
tions, which were on the very point of completion, 
produced the telegram, which he had about him, and 
repeated the contents aloud — 

“Am returning to-day by the 4-30 train. Shall be home to 
dinner. Friend accompanies me.” 

“ You couldn’t very well have anything plainer than 
that,” was his comment. “ Of course, they may have 
changed their minds, or decided to come by a later 
train, after all. Only, I think, in that case, there 
would have been another telegram.” 

“ Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to do about it,” 
exclaimed the poor lady, almost wringing her hands. 

“Hadn’t you better go and speak to cook yourself?” 
said her son, making the proposal without the slightest 
comprehension of what it involved. 


THE JfSO TRAIN. 


55 


“ I suppose I had,” murmured his mother ; “ very 
well, Jane, you can say I’m coming.” And for the 
second time she left the room, leaving the young 
people together. 

“Aren’t you tired of standing, May?” asked her 
brother, addressing the girl, who had scarcely varied 
her attitude an inch in the last half-hour. 

“ Tired 1” she exclaimed, half turning round. 
“ What has that got to do with it? I want to be the 
first to see them.” Then, she added, “Tell me what 
you meant to say, a little while ago, when you began 
‘ I wish,’ and stopped.” 

“ Why,” he answered, gloomily, “ I was going to 
say, I wish the governor had never started on this 
journey; though,” he added, in a hurry, “of course 
he’s all right — missed the train, or else there’s a block 

on the line, or something — only ” He broke off 

without bringing his sentence to a conclusion, and 
asked, “ Was that what you wished, too?” 

“I!” she exclaimed, “I wish that and more. I 
wish he had never had that letter. I wish his friend, 
whoever he is, had never come back from wherever he 
was ; and I wish, more than all, that I’d never had 
that dream, and that you hadn’t heard, or thought you 
heard, his voice calling you.” 

“ Oh, come, now,” was the would-be comforting 
response, “ now you’re going ahead too far. Of course, 
it’s vexing and all that ; but, after all, the only thing 
that will really suffer will be the dinner, and that 
won’t be fit to eat, if they don’t come directly.” 

As if in answer to this remark, Mrs. Burritt at that 
moment re-entered the' room. She was flushed and 
agitated, and, as was apparent to the most obtuse 
observer, on the verge of tears. 

“ Really, cook has been most trying,” she sighed, as 


56 


TIIE FATAL REQUEST 


she sank into the nearest chair. “ She almost inti- 
mated that I had done it on purpose. She says, she 
has never been used to such ways, and that flesh and 
blood won’t stand it, let alone legs of mutton. And, 
really, her face was so red and her breath so short, 
and she seemed so on the very point of boiling over, 
that I should have liked to have offered her some of 
those globules, only I didn’t know how she’d take it — 
that is, I’m afraid she wouldn’t take them at all. I 
know she threw a whole box of pills behind the kitchen 
fire a little while ago, and said, she didn’t believe in 
them any more than she did in French cookery ; and 
that medicine was all very well for anyone who hadn’t 
got their living to get, but, in her opinion, a good 
mustard plaster was worth tl*e whole lot of it.” 

“But, how about dinner?” inquired her son, as 
Mrs. Burritt finally came to a full stop. 

“Well, she says she can give us another ten minutes, 
but no more. In fact, she says she’s got her character 
to think of, and she wouldn’t consent to anything further 
for another £5 a year. She also said,” continued Mrs. 
Burritt, with every sign of contrition, “that she was 
an orphan, with the exception of her mother and a 
maiden aunt, and that her character was the only 
thing she had to trust to. And, after that, what could 
I say ? ” 

The ten minutes passed, as the previous thirty had 
done, and at the end of that time three very dispirited 
people sat down to their spoilt dinner. 

The soup, as Mrs. Burritt had predicted, seemed to 
contain pepper as its chief ingredient ; the fish was 
boiled to rags ; the leg of mutton was over done, and 
the pastry burnt. 

But no one thought much of these drawbacks, for 
no one seemed to know exactly what they were eating. 


THE 4*0 TRAIN. 


57 


Even Mrs. Burritt, without knowing why, began to 
give way to the general despondency — though her son 
and daughter took the greatest care not to impart any 
of their own anxiety to her — and showed a tendency 
to indulge in reminiscences of a morbid tendency. 

“Ah!” she sighed, “I remember well, when I was a 
girl, going out to dinner — it was just about this time of 
the year, too — and the dinner was spoilt, just the same 
as this is, by being put back twice, because of one of 
the guests being late. There was a leg of mutton, too, 
I remember,” she went on, looking round the table, 
“ and spinach, just the same as we’re eating now, and 
it was overdone, just like this is, and all through one 
man being late — in fact, he never came at all.” 

“ How was that ? ” asked her daughter, whose heart 
was becoming as heavy as lead, and who only played 
with the contents of her plate, and was not made to 
feel any more cheerful by this unfortunate series of 
coincidences, as related by her mother. 

“ No,” repeated that lady; “he never came at all. 
Poor man ! — it wasn’t his fault — he really couldn’t 
help it ; though no one knew it at the time, and every- 
thing was spoilt, and the dinner party turned out a 
complete failure. I forget whether it was bigamy or 
embezzlement,” she continued, “ but it was something 
with a ‘ b ’ in it ; and all the time we were waiting 
dinner, he was being driven, between two detectives, 
in quite the opposite direction ; and the next thing we 
heard of him, he was transported and had to wear a 
dreadful coarse dress with arrows on it, and odd 
stockings, which would naturally make anyone feel 
very awkward and uncomfortable — at least 4 I know it 
would me.” 

The story came to an end as the course was removed, 
and Mrs. Burritt, finding the whole burden of the con- 


58 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

versation resting upon her shoulders, resumed her 
discourse. 

“There was your father’s own second cousin, once 
removed, Joseph Grimmett ! He was the most unfor- 
tunate man that ever lived — never in time for any- 
thing. Twice his wedding had to be put off. Once 
because he forgot the day, and the second time because 
he overslept himself. The third time they got him to 
the church overnight and locked him up in the vestry. 
Indeed, I’ve heard it said that the only time he was 
ever really punctual was at his own funeral.” 

The second anecdote was not destined to receive so 
much attention as the first. Before her mother had 
done speaking, May noticed that her brother, whose 
attention had been obviously wandering for some time 
past, appeared to be listening to something from with- 
out. At first her heart bounded. Could it be that 
they had arrived at last ? Was it the click of the gate 
that he was straining his ear to catch ? or the sound 
of footsteps upon the gravel drive without ? So she, too, 
listened in her turn, hoping to be able to distinguish 
one or the other of these welcome but long delayed 
signals. But the only thing she could hear was the 
faint sound of a voice which seemed to be shouting 
something in the distance. So she turned her atten- 
tion back again, and found that her mother was add- 
ing a postscript to her last narrative. 

“And even then, when they came to bury him, 
they found that the grave had been made too short — 
for he was a very fine man, though unfortunate to a 
degree — so they had to leave the coffin in the porch 
and wait ^jntil the next day.” 

Looking across the table again, May found that her 
brother was still engaged in listening, and this time 
she also perceived that the voice was drawing gradually 


THE 4-30 TEA IN. 


59 


nearer, and resolving itself into that of a peripatetic 
newsboy, who was vending his wares and shouting 
out the most sensational headings at the top of his 
voice. Was that all? Still, he was not yet near 
enough for her to distinguish the sense of the sounds 
which caught her ear from time to time, as she absently 
crumbled her bread, and thought to herself over and 
over again, “ If only father would come home ! ” 

Mrs. Burritt, as though the thought had set in 
motion some electric current which connected the two 
brains, remarked at this juncture, “I suppose they 
are quite certain to be here some time to-night? ” 

Almost before the words were out of her lips, her 
son, who was sitting on her right, started to his feet 
with a cry. 

“ What is it ? oh, what is it ? ” asked his sister, as a 
sense of something terrible about to happen fell upon 
her. 

He made no reply, but, with dilating eyes, stood 
there with every faculty absorbed in the one effort. 

Then he raised One hand — the other clutched the 
edge of the table. “ Listen ! ” he gasped. 

And the voice without, now close to their very gates, 
made itself plainly heard, as it shouted out the latest 
bulletin — 

“ Spechul hedishun ! Hevenin' Standard / ’Orrible 
railway haccident ! Over twenty killed and hinjured 
The four-thirty from Dover wrecked by a down train 
carryin’ petroleum barrels ! The line on fire 1 Horful 
scenes 1 ’Artrendin’ details 1 ” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 

HAT happened after this no one ever knew 



VV exactly. Before Mrs. Burritt had begun to 
grasp the idea that something was wrong, her son had 
rushed from the room. 

After what seemed an age of waiting, but was really 
a very short time, he returned. In his hand he held 
a copy of the newspaper which he had just bought. 
He was very pale, but had in some degree regained 
his presence of mind. At anyrate, he was outwardly 
composed, though there was something in this very 
composure which alarmed the two women almost more 
than his recent outbreak had done. Even Mrs. Bur- 
ritt, whose powers of penetration were not remarkable, 
perceived that something dreadful either had happened 
or was about to do so. 

“ Mother,” he said, putting a strong restraint upon 
himself, “ I am afraid there has been an accident on 
the line. You musn’t be alarmed, for though some 
people have been injured, there is no reason why my 
father should not have escaped, and very likely the 
affair has been greatly exaggerated.” 

The poor young fellow tried to speak hopefully, but 
in his own mind he was convinced that a terrible 
tragedy had taken place, the full extent of which, so 
far from being exaggerated, was yet to be revealed. 

“ Ted,” said his sister, in a voice almost as calm as 
his own, though her face had lost every particle of 
60 


THE SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 


61 


colour, and seemed to have suddenly become years 
older, “ Let us know the worst 1 ” And she held out 
her hand for the paper. 

“ The worst ! ” he answered, with a sound like a 
strangled sob in his voice, “ Why should there be any 
worst ? And as for the paper,” crumpling it up in 
his hand, “you can’t place the slightest dependence 
upon that. I’m — I’m going up to town by the next 
train, so as to be on the spot, and ” 

At this point, Mrs. Burritt, who had been staring 
speechlessly before her, and wringing her hands in 
helpless bewilderment, rose to her feet with a sudden 
and .remarkable alteration of manner. “Ted,” she 
said, speaking firmly, and with a certain never before 
known tone of authority in her voice, “go and fetch 
him home ! ” 

“ I am going to, mother,” was the answer he made, 
unable to control his amazement at the sudden change 
in her, “ I am going to — if I can.” 

The last words betrayed only too plainly all that 
he had been trying to hide. 

“ Ted,” repeated his mother, sharply, “ I’m surprised 
at you ! Go and fetch him at once I ” Then, in a 
moment, this flash of spirit left her and she fell back 
into her chair a mere dazed, helpless bundle. “ Oh, 
dearl Oh, dear!” she moaned, “this all comes of 
flying in the face of Providence and travelling on a 
Friday. Oh, whatever shall we do ? ” 

“Do!” exclaimed her son, trying to impart some 
comfort to his unhappy mother and sister, in spite of 
the utter hopelessness which lay at the bottom of his 
own heart. “ Why, I’m going to start this very 
minute for wherever the place may be, and find out 
the guv’nor. He may be hurt in some way, you 
know,” he added, slowly, by way of preparing their 


62 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


minds for whatever might be the result. “ He may 
have come off with a broken leg, or something of that 
sort. You can hardly expect him to have got off scot 
free. But whatever it is, I’m going to find him out 
and bring him back home. Good-bye, good-bye. I 
can’t afford to waste another second. After all, I may 
bring back good news — good-bye ! Take care of 
mother” — this to his sister — and he was gone. 

But before he could leave the house, while his hand 
was yet upon the latch, he found himself confronted 
by the girl. 

“ This was what it meant, then? ” she said in tragic 
tones. 

“I don’t know what you mean?” he answered, 
huskily, but avoiding her eyes. 

She gave a deep sigh. “ Oh, you know — you know 
quite well,” she murmured. “You were not called 
for nothing. I said, at the time, it was a warning, 
but I never thought ” She turned away. “Good- 

bye,” she said, slowly and sadly. “ You will do your 
best — but I have no hope — none ! ” 

He caught a train which was on the very point of 
starting, and leaped into the first carriage he came to. 
But in spite of the wild rush he made for it he was 
aware that the news had penetrated there. Two or 
three people were standing about discussing some 
matter of deep interest, and he was conscious of heads 
being turned his way and a sensation of being pointed 
at as he tore across the platform and sprang into the 
train which was already on the move. 

Fortunately the compartment, which he had pitched 
upon at random, was empty, for he felt that he could 
not have borne the presence of a single soul. 

Then he took out the paper which he had kept so 
carefully from the sight of those others at home and 


THE SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 63 

began to study more earnestly the brief, but terrible, 
announcement which it contained. 

“A dreadful railway accident has taken place on the South- 
Eastern Railway. A goods train from London to Maidstone, 
which contained two waggons loaded with petroleum barrels, 
through some mistake in the signals, ran into the 4-30 up train 
from Dover, at the point where the lines cross. The engine, tender, 
and three first-class carriages have been smashed up and burnt 
by the petroleum. Twenty-three passengers are either dead or 
dying. Their names, at this late hour, have not yet been ascer- 
tained. The line for Borne distance is said to be in a sheet of 
flame.” 

The perspiration stood upon his brow as he read 
this — this grim and ghastly paragraph — over and over 
again. 

“How could I possibly let them see this?” he 
groaned to himself. “ They would go out of their 
minds with the horror of it. And yet,” the thought 
struck him, “what is to prevent them from reading it all, 
and more beside, in the morning papers ? Though, of 
course, there is hope — there must be a gleam of hope ! 
Some must have escaped I If I only knew which car- 
riage he was in ! How slow this train is. How it 
crawls along. But if it went at the rate of a hundred 
miles an hour it would seem slow to me to-night. 
And yet, why .should I want to travel faster ? How 
do I know what awaits me at my journey’s end ? ” 

When the train reached London Bridge, a little 
before ten, he found all was bustle and confusion. 
The news of the accident had spread like wildfire, and 
a momentarily increasing throng of agonized friends 
and relatives besieged the officials, attacked the tele- 
graph office and hurried hither and thither, backwards 
and forwards, in search of something definite in the 
shape of information. 


64 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Ted Burritt forced himself through the crowd which 
was gathered round some person in authority, and 
put the same questions which burst from so many lips 
at once. 

“Was anything more known about the accident? 
When would the line be clear, and when would a train 
be allowed to run to the scene of the disaster? ” 

And the answers, repeated over and over again, and 
passed from mouth to mouth, were : — 

“No further details of the accident had been ascer- 
tained, and no names of the victims had yet been 
published, as the telegraph lines had been broken. 

The first train to Bannock Bridge, the scene of the 
disaster, would be run as soon as the line was clear, 
and that could not be for some hours longer.” In the 
meantime, there were locomotives and cranes and 
detachments of workmen being sent off as rapidly as 
possible; but the unfortunate people who craved to 
know what might be the fate of some of their nearest 
and dearest, could do nothing but wait, hour after 
hour, every minute of which seemed an age, and each 
separate hour an eternity. 

There was nothing to do but pace up and down and 
up and down ; with, now and then, a sudden rush in 
the direction of a guard or a telegraph clerk— a babel 
of voices — the same eager questions repeated over and 
over again — the same unsatisfactory answers — and 
then up and down, up and down. Some, chiefly 
women, sought refuge in the dreary waiting room, 
where they huddled together, and sobbed and prayed, 
or preserved a frozen silence, according to their dif- 
ferent natures. Some even went to sleep and had to 
be awakened at the last moment. 

And so, at last, the hours wore away, and very early 
in the morning a train started, bearing its weary, 


THE SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 65 

haggard load of men and women, each hoping that 
God had at least been merciful to him, or her, whoever 
else He might have bereaved. 

Ted Burritt sat in his corner of the carriage, and 
let his thoughts wander where they would. He found 
himself recalling his school days, and that occasion in 
particular when he brought home his first prize, and 
his father’s thinly veiled pride therein. It seemed 
only yesterday. He remembered the tjps which were 
always so generously forthcoming ; the sympathy which 
was never withheld, and the perfect confidence which 
had always existed between them ; the proud affection 
that the father showed so plainly for “his boy,” and 
his own implicit belief that there was no other 
“guv’nor” like his. And yet he had heard it 
whispered that some of the victims of the accident 
had been literally roasted to death. He set his teeth, 
and dug his nails into the palms of his hands, and 
uttered an exclamation under his breath that was half 
a prayer and half a curse. Then his thoughts flew off 
again at a tangent, and he recollected that he had left 
home without bringing with him a single article in the 
shape of luggage, or even providing himself with a 
sufficient stock of money to last any time. But, after 
all, he might not require it. Things might not be so 
bad. But that strange dream — illusion — what could 
you call it? what had that meant? Could it be that 
it was really a warning? And could he have done 
anything? Could he have averted the catastrophe? 
No, no ; how could that be ? And yet he had seemed 
to hear it so plainly — “ Ted ! Ted ! ” And he had sat 
up in bed and answered back, “All right, guv’nor! 
Do you want anything?” 

He was glad, now, that he had answered back, as 
he did. And yet it was only a dream — an hallucination 


66 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


And then it was strange, too, about that dream of 
May’s. It was very strange that it should have hap- 
pened to her on the very same night — and yet it was 
only a coincidence after all ! Then he wondered what 
they were doing at home — whether they had gone to 
bed, or were sitting up, waiting for him to return with 
good news ? 

Well, he would send them a telegram in the morn- 
ing, anyhow, and he wondered to himself what that 
telegram woufcl contain — whether it would say, “ All 
safe and well,” or ? 

After a time he began to notice the other occupants 
of the compartment as they appeared by the smoky 
light of the carriage lamps. 

They were five in all — three men and two women. 
The men, for the most part, sat and stared straight in 
front of them. One of them talked to himself. Of 
the two women, one sat crying under her widow’s veil 
and the other tied knots in her handkerchief. He felt 
his attention concentrate itself upon the latter, and 
began to take a certain interest in the knots which she 
kept tying. He noticed that, when she had tied a 
certain number, she untied them and began again, and 
he calculated that, in this way, she must have tied 
several hundred knots since they left London Bridge. 
Then he heard the man who talked to himself say, “ I 
wish I hadn’t found fault with her about the eggs not 
being fresh. It wasn’t her fault, anyhow, and I 
oughtn’t to have said what I did.” 

Ted settled in his mind that it was his wife which 
the latter was going in search of, and that there had 
been a slight disagreement, which he now regretted. 

As to the woman who kept crying behind her veil, 
as she was only too evidently already a widow, he 
determined that it was her son — perhaps her only son — 


THE SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 


67 


who was also involved in the accident, and she was 
crying because she feared she had lost him, too. 

As for the other woman, who tied the knots in her 
handkerchief, he was unable to arrive at any sort of 
satisfactory conclusion with regard to her. She was 
neither old nor young, and he could not see whether 

she wore a wedding ring or All at once the 

thought occurred to him, What had become of the 
friend? The friend whom his father went to meet, 
and who was to return with him? The friend for 
whom the second spare bedroom had been prepared in 
vain ? But what did it matter about him ? Why, but 
for him, though the accident would have taken place 
all the same, it would have had nothing to do with 
that pleasant, peaceful home at Dulwich ! 

Oh ! why had he come back and disturbed the whole 
current of their lives by that hateful letter which had 

summoned the head of the family, perhaps to his ? 

But he would pursue that thought no further. After 
all, there might be only slight injuries, or, at the 
worst, they might not be fatal. 

But again the thought of a horrible death by suffo- 
cation or by fire came over him and turned him sick 
and cold. 

By the time he had recovered himself a little, he 
saw that the day was beginning to dawn, also that 
they had left Tunbridge behind them, and were now 
passing through that beautiful and richly wooded 
part of the country which is bounded on the north by 
the Quarry Hills and on the south by the hills of the 
wealds. Surely they must be very near the scene of 
the disaster. 

He glanced round at his fellow-passengers. The 
woman in the widow’s weeds seemed to have no more 
tears left to shed ; but the man who talked to himself 

o—2 


68 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


still kept up a half-audible muttering, and the other 
woman was still rapidly tying and untying knots in 
her handkerchief. And now the train began to slacken 
speed, and eager heads were seen leaning out of every 
window, looking wildly up and down the line. 

Even in the faint early light, which was all they had 
to illumine the scene, signs of the recent catastrophe 
began to appear. The banks on either side were 
blackened and the vegetation singed; the telegraph 
wires were broken, and the posts charred and burnt, 
and an over-powering odour of burning, mingled with 
something stronger and more noxious still, filled every 
nostril. 

By the side of the line they now saw drawn up some 
of the ruined carriages. Presently they came upon 
the engine. It lay upon its side, where it had been 
cast over the rails, its funnel smashed to pieces by the 
tender, which had made a tremendous somersault right 
over it. As they drew nearer the station, the smell of 
burning and the stench of the oil became suffocating, 
and a pitchy black smoke which rose from the ground, 
which had been saturated by petroleum, turned nearly 
everyone sick and faint. 

Another moment, and the train drew up at the 
picturesque little country station, which had now been 
converted into a temporary dead-house. In front of 
the platform were the axles and wheels, which were all 
that remained of the three carriages which had sus- 
tained the full fury of the conflagration. Farther down 
the line, they could see the remainder and comparatively 
uninjured portion of the ill-fated train, awaiting a loco- 
motive to take it up to town ; while all around, as far 
as they could see, were heaps of blackened remains of 
what looked like firewood that had been reduced to 
charcoal, and which were still smoking. 


THE SEARCH FOR A FATHER. 


69 


The mournful, wild eyed cavalcade, which alighted 
at the platform, were met. by the stationmaster, who 
merely motioned with his arm, and said, “ In there.” 

The whole crowd, with one accord, poured in the 
direction indicated. 

A dreadful sight met their eyes. In the waiting 
room and booking office a dozen charred remnants of 
human beings were laid out on tarpaulins — each one 
of which had lost all semblance to humanity. There 
was no clue, no possibility of recognizing or identify- 
ing any. 

Ted Burritt approached and looked down upon one ; 
then staggered and nearly fell. 

“Are these all?” he asked, in a dreadful whisper, 
which yet made itself heard among the awful chorus of 
shrieks and groans and hysterical cries which eddied 
round him as the throng pressed forward one upon 
the other, and then, with -one accord, shuddered and 
recoiled, while two of the women fainted. 

. The man who was in charge of this ghastly detach- 
ment answered, briefly, “ There be a heap more on ’em 
in the. church yonder 1 ” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


m THE VESTRY. 

T HERE was very little sleep for anyone at Magnolia 
Lodge that night. Mrs. Burritt was at last 
persuaded tb go and lie down upon her bed, where she 
was ministered to by her daughter and the cook, who, 
if her temper was warm, had a heart to correspond and 
insisted on sitting up with her mistress, bathing her 
head and dosing her with sal-volatile from time to 
time. 

“ You go and lie down a bit, Miss May,” entreated 
this functionary, “and leave your poor, dear ma to 
me. Lor’ bless you, I can manage her first rate and 
I shouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t drop off to sleep 
presently. There’s nothing like affliction and hearts- 
horn and water for sending a body off. Bless you, 
my dear — if you’ll excuse me for addressing you as 
sich — I’ve passed through a vale of tears myself and 
know what it’s like. Haven’t I seen my own uncle, 
by my mother’s side, brought home from the gas-works 
in bits, so that you’d never have thought they could 
have put him together again? And now he’s doing 
well, with a wooden leg and a green shade over one 
eye, not to mention all his front teeth blown down 
his throat and a pension. So my motter is, ‘ Trust in 
Providence and don’t keep the dinner waiting; for 
cooks is only mortal, after all, whatever their wishes 
might be.’ ” 

At this moment Mrs. Burritt gave a faint groan and 
was heard to murmur something. 


IN THE VESTRY. 


71 


u Where do you feel it now, ma’am ? ” inquired the 
peppery but sympathetic soul, as she bent over her. 
“ Is it your poor head, or where? ” 

Mrs. Burritt moved her lips and something was 
heard to issue from them, which sounded like — “ hot 
water l ” 

“ Anything in it, ma’am, a little drop of something 
comforting and a squeeze of lemon? ” 

“ Blankets ! ” came, in a faint whisper. 

“ Poor thing I ” said the cook, with her apron to her 
eyes ; “ she’s wandering.” 

But Mrs. Burritt, half-raising her head from the 
pillow, repeated more distinctly, “Blankets and hot 
water, and a fire in the second best bedroom.” 

“I think, cook,” said May, “that mamma’s mind is 
running upon the accident and she is confusing it with 
a shipwreck, and the way they treat the survivors.” 

“ And very well she may,” was the reply ; “I know 
what it is myself often not to know whether I’m on my 
head or my heels, perticler with the toothache, when 
I’ve stuffed the turkey with mince-meat, and served 
up roast pork with caper sauce.” 

Then, speaking to her mistress, “ Make your mind 
easy, ma’am. I’ll go and put the kittle on this minnit. 
Anyhow, a cup of tea won’t do nobody no harm.” 

The good creature quitted the room on her errand, 
leaving the mother and daughter alone. 

“ May ! ” said the voice from the bed, feebly. 

“ Yes, mother.” 

“ I’ve just made up my mind,” continued the voice, 
“ that I’ve known it from the first. Yes,” it went on, 
“ I remember how I had a queer sinking feeling 
the morning your father went away, and I took six 
drops of nerve tonic in a glass of sherry. If I’d 
only known it was a warning I should have taken 


72 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


twelve drops. And then there was that bottle of 
Maltby’s Vegetable Extract he left behind him, after 
promising to take a dose night and morning. You 
see it all mounts up, and now ” — recommencing to wring 
her hands — “ he’ll never take it ; I know he won’t.” 

And so in lamentations and torturing suspense, 
together with brief intervals of broken rest, the night 
wore away. The servants, with scared faces, crept 
about the house and prepared the breakfast, which 
nobody touched. 

May Burritt came downstairs about eight o’clock, 
and the first thing that she saw was the daily paper 
lying in its accustomed place beside the urn. 

“Ah ! ” she gasped, “ now to know the worst 1 ” 

The account she sought was assigned the most 
prominent position, and was headed in large capitals, 
“ Terrible Railway Accident 1 Thirty-two lives lost 1 
Numbers roasted to death ! ” 

It merely repeated the announcement of the night 
before, and laid considerable stress upon the fact that 
no identification of the victims could take place for 
some time, if at all, owing to the complete destruction 
by the ravages of the fire of almost everything in the 
shape of evidence. 

She read the brief paragraph, into which so much 
horror was condensed, and then stood as though 
turned to stone. “ My dream 1 ” she moaned, through 
bloodless bps. 

Then coming back to herself, she murmured, 
“ Mother must never see this, it would kill her 1 ” 
And she left the room, taking the paper with her. 
“After all, though,” she ventured to hope, “there 
have been some saved. Why may not he be among 
them ? Surely Ted will send a telegram soon. Poor 
boy 1 I wonder what he is doing ? ” 


IN THE VESTRY. 


73 


A little later in the morning, when Mrs. Burritt was 
just being coaxed to take a little beef tea, which cook 
had prepared according to her most famous recipe, the 
fateful double knock once more re-echoed through the 
house. 

“ What’s that?” cried Mrs. Burritt, sitting bolt up- 
right. “ Perhaps he’s come back safe after all ! Run, 
May, and see. And if it’s your father, tell him to 
be sure and change his clothes directly, for I know 
they must be damp.” 

The housemaid met her on the stairs, bearing a yel- 
low envelope. “ The boy is waiting to know if there 
is any answer, miss,” she said, and lingered in the 
expectation of hearing something of the contents. 

The girl seized it and tore it open 1 

To return to her brother, who had been told that 
there were yet many more bodies in the church, for 
which room could not be found elsewhere, and who, 
accompanied by a detachment of other seekers, there- 
upon left the station for the sacred edifice. It was a 
relief to find themselves again in the open air, after 
the ghastly sight that had just met their eyes. But 
there was horror in the thought that they were only 
exchanging one such scene for another. 

“ Could he have been one of those ? ” was the awful 
thought which pursued the young man — “ one of those 
fearful, indescribable objects ! And was it such a thing 
as that that he must take home with him, if it should 
prove by any means possible to separate the identity 
of the one from the other? Was one of those hideous, 
charred, shapeless masses all that was left of his good, 
kind father ? — the man who was universally esteemed 
by all who came in contact with him, and who could 
never wittingly have injured a single soul? And if 
this were so, what was the good of leading an upright, 


74 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


useful, blameless life, such as had been his, if this were 
to be the end of it ? Had it saved him a single agony, 
or ? ” 

He came in sight of the church, which was not far 
from the station. 

It was an ancient grey fabric, with a massive square 
tower, in the midst of its graveyard. A quiet, peace- 
ful spot, surrounded by a few cottages, which gathered 
round it as though for shelter and protection from the 
snares and subtleties of the world. It was now quite 
light, but there was that strange stillness in the air, as 
though all nature were waiting for a certain signal to 
begin the day. And in a moment it came. A bird began 
to chirp in one of the great elm-trees by the church — 
another and another joined in, and in a few seconds 
the air was filled with their ceaseless twittering. 

The party passed through the lychgate, which was 
one of the features of the place, and wound slowly up 
the path to the porch. They walked between rows of 
peaceful graves, each with its headstone, or memorial 
cross, and noticed the flowers which were trained 
to blossom there, and then thought of the dead who 
awaited them within the walls of the building. Some 
of them groaned aloud. 

“ 0 Lord ! ” Ted Burritt heard one man behind him 
exclaim, “ it isn’t decent to serve folks so. Surely 
you’ll let ’em off, now, whatever they’ve done, and not 
burn ’em twice over.” 

Arriving at the porch, the foremost of the party dis- 
covered that the door was locked. Here was a 
sudden check, and they began to consult together as 
to where the key might be found. 

As they did so, a window of one of the little cottages 
opposite the church was thrown up, and an old man, 
in a quaint, old fashioned nightcap, stuck his head out. 


IN THE VESTRY. 75 

“I be a-comin’,” be cried; “ye must jest bide a 
bit, and I’ll be with ’ee.” 

This was evidently the clerk or sexton ; at anyrate, 
he was the individual required, and there was nothing 
to do but to “ bide,” as he had desired them. 

It was very chilly waiting there in the keen, early 
morning air. Even the men shivered, and the women 
— delicate looking ladies, some of them — wrapped 
themselves up closer in their cloaks and shawls, and 
seemed chilled to their very souls. How haggard and 
worn and unkempt they looked, every one of them, in 
the cold merciless light of the new day 1 

At last the churchyard gate clicked, and a shrivelled, 
bent figure made its appearance, dangling a bunch of 
great keys in one hand. 

“ ’Ere I be,” he cried, in his high, shrill voice ; “ and 
you wants to see the poor fowks inside? Ah, poor 
dears ! ” as he fitted the largest key into the lock ; 
“ ’ow many of ’em thought as they was a takin’ a 
ticket to kingdom come when they started. Eh ! it’s a 
sad sight — a dreffle sad sight! ‘Dust we are, and 
unto dust we must return ; ’ but it don’t say nuthen 
about our bein’ turned into charcoal fust ! ” 

Here he threw the great door open with a clang, and 
the people entered the church. It was very dark inside. 
The windows were most of them of coloured glass and 
high up; and the old fashioned pews and the thick 
squat columns which supported the roof seemed to 
swallow up what little light there was. 

“They’ve put ’em all inside the chancel rails,” 
said the old man, who had constituted himself a 
sort of ghoulish master of the ceremonies. “Passon 
said, let ’em lie there, and we settled ’em all as 
comf’ table as we could, wi’ plenty o’ elber room, and 
no scroogin’.” 


76 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


No one seemed to care to be the first to approach that 
part of the holy edifice. 

At last Ted Burritt, with a grim determination, 
approached the railing. 

Inside, the bodies, or what had once been bodies, 
were disposed in two rows. 

Those on the right hand lay in coffins which had 
been hastily gathered from all parts of the neighbour- 
hood; those on the left were mere groups of ashes 
collected together on pieces of tarpaulin. 

At this sight another of the women fainted, and was 
carried into a pew to recover herself at her leisure, 
everyone being too much occupied with the dead to 
trouble themselves with the care of the living. 

The bodies lay in two rows, as I have said. Ted 
Burritt began at the right-hand side. The other peo- 
ple followed his example, and the old clerk acted as 
cicerone. 

“ This ’un,” he said, indicating the terrible contents 
of one coffin, “is the driver of the express. They 
knowed ’im by ’is buttons. ’E was picked up — what 
was left of ’im — under the ingin. The guard, ’e jumped, 
and saved ’isself. The next is the remains of a gentle- 
man as ’as been hidentified by a hinscription on ’is 
watch, and is a- waitin’ fur ’is friends to come along 
and claim ’im. Sir Somebudy Somethin’ ’e was, but 
it didn’t do ’im no good.” 

They passed on. 

“This,” he said, “is supposed to a-bin a young 
female, as they found a thimble and a bit of a dress 
among the ashes. Thimble ’ad the name o’ * Lizzie ’ 
scratched on it.” 

A man who was craning his neck over Ted Burritt ’s 
shoulder gave a sharp cry : “ That’s my girl I That’s my 
Lizzie 1 And her mother waiting for her at home, and 


IN THE VESTRY. 


77 


won’t believe as anything can have happened to her — 
Oh, Lord ! ” and he broke out into wild outcries. 

Some of the others, forgetful of their own concerns 
for a moment, gathered round him and made an attempt 
at consolation. 

“ At least you know which she is — that ought to be 
a little comfort to you.” 

“ But I thought she might have been saved. She 
was such a good girl — and look at her there ! ” and he 
gesticulated towards the open coffin. 

“ I can’t stand much more of this,” murmured Ted 
Burritt, as he wiped the great drops of perspiration 
from his forehead. 

They left the bereaved parent moaning over his 
child’s remains and again passed on. The next three 
coffins were examined, shuddered at and left. The 
mutilated corpses which they contained possessed 
neither head, feet, nor hands. They could never have 
been taken for anything human had not the fact been 
established beyond all doubt. Was either of those his 
father ? 

There only remained one or two more belonging to 
that row, and they, too, were unrecognizable. After 
that nothing was left but the poor heaps of ashes on the 
other side. 

“ This is all, ladies and gentlemen,” said the old man, 
with a sort of charnel-house cheerfulness, “ ’sides one 
more in the vestry, as was put there in consequents of 
bein’ very little damaged, ’cept about the legs; and 
passon did say as I was to show ’im fust, through bein’ 
easy recognized. But my pore old ’ed’s bin all of a 
jumble since th’ accident, and I clean forgot ’im. Bu 
anybody as likes can jest step into the vestry and see 
’im for theirselves. They’ve laid ’im out on the table, 
through bein’ of a hextry size, and runnin’ short o’ 


78 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


coffins. ’E was found buried under a lot o’ rubbidge, 
and they ’ad a deal ’o trouble to git ’im out.” 

There was a general rush in that direction on the 
part of all those who had a male relative missing. 

For some reason Ted Burritt remained behind. 
“ I’ll let them all go first,” he said to himself. At this 
moment a fresh body of searchers entered the church 
and the old clerk recommenced his grisly office. 

In the meantime, those who had been to view the 
body in the vestry returned. It was evident from 
their manner, and the short time they had been 
absent, that no identification had taken place. 

Ted Burritt, with his heart beating wildly now, 
turned in the same direction; As he passed through 
the low doorway, he could still hear the heartbroken 
cry, “ Lizzie ! my Lizzie 1 ” from the father who had 
found his child. 

The next moment he was in the vestry. It was a 
very small room, with one window and no furniture 
but a table and one chair. On the mantelpiece stood 
a water bottle and glass, and behind the door a surplice 
hung on a nail. On the extemporized bier a body lay, 
the lower limbs of which were covered with a cloth, 
leaving the face and the upper part of the body 
exposed to view. The face was that of a man of 
middle age, with hair and beard just turning grey. 
The eyes were wide open and fixed in a ghastly stare. 
The features were of a massive type. The lips were 
slightly open, showing the teeth clenched. Ted Burritt 
saw that it was the face of a man of about fifty years 
of age, with features that must have been handsome 
in their day, but which in death wore an expression 
of agonized expectancy — the expression of one who 
recognized the full horror of the fate that awaited him. 

It was the face of his own father l 


CHAPTER IX. 


DB. JEBEMIAH CARTWRIGHT. 

FEW moments elapsed, at the end of which time 



-tl the door of the vestry opened again. This time 
to admit a small, middle-aged gentleman, whose some- 
what imposing Roman nose was surmounted by a pair 
of gold-rimmed spectacles, and whose civil garb had an 
almost military cut and preciseness about it. In spite 
of his smoothly shaven face, his lack of inches aijd the 
pair of spectacles, there was something about the whole 
personality of the man which seemed to proclaim aloud 
the fact that at some time or other he had followed the 
drum. In addition to this, every movement and 
gesture showed him to be of a singularly energetic 
disposition, and possessed of faculties which were 
always on the alert. 

As it was, he at first took himself — with the excep- 
tion of the dead man — to be the only occupant of the 
apartment. He accordingly advanced briskly, but 
came to a sudden full stop on seeing a kneeling figure, 
with his face buried in his hands, motionless at the 
foot of the rigid, recumbent form. 

“ Umph ! ” ejaculated the stranger. “ Poor fellow 1 
sorry for him — very I I wonder whether he’d mind 
my speaking to him? No need to inquire whether 
he’s identified the body. Wish I hadn’t come — it’s all 
Mrs. Johnson’s fault — but can’t waste time now I am 
here. He doesn’t seem to have noticed me yet. I’d 
better speak to him and rouse him.” 


79 


80 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


He cleared his throat, and gave a sharp little cough 
like a double knock. 

“ I beg your pardon, my dear sir, I hope I’m not 
disturbing you, but ” 

The young man raised his head, and stared at him 
in a dazed sort of way. 

“ He belongs to me,” he said slowly ; “ I’m his son.” 

“ Dear, dear ! ” was the answer. “ Sad 1 — uncom- 
monly sad, to he sure ! but such things will happen. 
* In the midst of life we are in death.’ If not, what 
would become of the doctors?” He shook his head 
with due solemnity over this profound remark. 

But the young man had already forgotten his 
presence, and was gazing abstractedly at the dead 
white face. “I never should have thought he could 
have looked like that,” he said to himself in a whisper. 

“ Ah,” put in the other, with an air of being quite 
at home on this particular subject, “ it’s wonderful 
how people do change after death — particularly in a 
case like this,” indicating the body with a professional 
motion of the hand ; “ but this is nothing — actually 
nothing to some of the sights I have seen — nothing 
like it in all my born days, and I’ve had some little 
experience, too.” 

Teel Burritt rose to his feet and seemed, all at once, 
to wake from the apathy of grief which had overcome 
him when he realized that his worst fears had been 
surpassed, and that his beloved parent had met with a 
horrible death, such as the most abandoned criminal 
might have shuddered at. As he did so, he showed 
himself in the eyes of * the new-comer as a tall, broad 
shouldered young fellow, with a handsome face, which, 
instead of wearing its us ual healthy, tanned aspect, 
was bleached to a sickly grey hue. His eyes were 
bloodshot ; his hair tossed and tumbled, as though it 


DR. JEREMIAH CARVWRIGHT. 


81 


had been clutched at and dishevelled by muscular 
fingers. His dress was dusty and disordered, and he 
bore a haggard, unwashed appearance. 

But, in spite of these drawbacks, the other ejacu- 
lated, under his breath — 

“ Humph ! A fine fellow ! A confoundedly good 
looking fellow ! Just the sort that the girls would run 
after, without waiting to find out whether there was 
anything inside that handsome skull of his. Seems 
uncommonly cut up, too — rather unusual thing in these 
days. Most of the young scamps seem to think that 
all a father’s made for is to ‘ shell out,’ as they call it. 
Seems to be something like genuine feeling here. And 
I like to see it 1 I like to see it !” 

Having arrived at the conclusion of these remarks, 
some of which might have been distinctly audible, had 
the listener chosen to lend an ear in their direction, he 
continued out loud — 

“By-the-by, let me introduce myself. My name’s 
Cartwright — Jeremiah Cartwright, surgeon, etc., late 
of the 47th.” 

And the little man pulled up his collar, swelled out 
his chest, and assumed a more military aspect than 
ever. 

Ted Burritt turned towards him with something like 
an appearance of interest, and the doctor, seeing this, 
went on — 

** Yes, I’ve been on the spot ever since the accident 
took place, until I was called away some time ago to 
Mrs. Johnson. Tiresome woman that I I don’t know 
whether you know her at all? But I forgot — of 
course not — a stranger here, to be sure. But she 
really is a most annoying woman. Always takes 
advantage of my being particularly busy, to go and 
have twins 1 Yes, sir, I assure you — twins ! And 

G 


82 


THE SATAL BEQUEST. 


she’s done it more than once. Ah ! but ” — as Ted 
Burritt made a movement of impatience — “I was 
telling you about the accident, of course. You can’t 
help feeling deeply interested in it, only really, I was 
so annoyed with that woman ! Well, as I was saying, 
I was driving home in my gig — been to see a patient 
some distance off — when all at once I heard a dull 
sound, like distant thunder. Next moment I came in 
sight of the line. I saw something bright shoot up, 
and before I had time to realize what had happened, 
the whole line, for a distance of forty or fifty yards, 
was a sea of flames. I drove on like ” — the doctor 
paused for a second, then an obvious comparison 
suggested itself, and he continued — “like blazes, and 
everyone who saw the glare came running, too. You’ve 
heard how it was, of course ? The down train from 
London to Maidstone, laden with petroleum, ran into 
the other just at that one point where the lines cross. 
Nobody knows yet whose fault it was, though, of 
course, there will be a thorough investigation. But 
that won’t do any good to those poor calcined remains, 
that are all that are left, in nearly every instance, of 
what were once our fellow-beings.” 

The little man had dropped something of his jaunty, 
self-satisfied air, and taken upon him that of the sober 
man of science. “ It was an awful sight, and what 
made it more so was the fact that little or nothing 
could be done to help. Fortunately, the carriage doors 
were unlocked on one side, so that those who were in 
the rear of the train got out that way, and helped the 
guard, who jumped and sustained some injuries, to 
uncouple the carriages and push them farther down 
the line into a place of safety. The first three or four 
carriages, however, were smashed to pieces as well as 
burnt, and there was no getting near them for the 


DR. JEREMIAH CARTWRIGHT. 


83 


flames. The groans and shrieks were something awful, 
and what was more, the front of the train was com- 
pletely enveloped in a black pitch-like smoke from 
the burning oil — which, as you know, had exploded 
from the concussion — through which the flames 
leaped and hissed. It was quite an hour before they 
had burnt themselves out, the liquid fire running over 
the surface of the ground and spreading the disaster ; 
and, even then, the heat was so intense, that there 
was no opportunity of approaching the carriages for 
some hours after that. And when we did ” — he paused 
impressively and threw out his hands — “when we 
did, there was nothing left but smoking skeletons of 
men, women and children — yes, sir, children — and in 
some instances, as you may have seen for yourself, not 
even that ! ” 

Ted Burritt uttered a groan, as the doctor wound up 
in a breathless condition. 

“ Terrible, wasn’t it?” said the latter, recovering him- 
self in no time. “But you” — laying his hand on the 
young man’s shoulder — “ you mustn’t give way, you 
know, for two reasons. First of all, because it’s no use ; 
and, secondly, because you have really a great deal to be 
thankful for. Oh, yes, I know ” — as Ted looked at 
him in stupid astonishment. “ But just consider these 
other poor folks — the church is full of them. By-the- 
by, I’ll stop any more of them from coming in here ! ” 

He opened the door of the vestry, darted through, 
and was back again and had resumed his sentence in 
an extraordinarily short time. 

“As I was saying, these other poor folks — they, 
many of them, have nothing left of their dead, but a 
few ashes — a handful of black dust. What is more, in 
most cases, they do not even know which particular 
handful of dust, or how many of the ashes they may 

6—2 


84 


THE FATAL REQUEST . 


claim as their own. Compare your case with theirs, 
and I think you will agree with me, that you have a 
great deal to be thankful for. You can have your dead 
decently interred, with his name upon his head-stone. 
They will have the remains of theirs cast into a common 
grave, with only the poor satisfaction of knowing that 
they are there somewhere ; hut will have to wait for 
the Resurrection Day to know more about it.” 

Ted Burritt raised his head, which was sunken 
between his shoulders. “ You are right,” he said, 
firmly, “ I have a great deal to be thankful for, even 
yet.” 

“ That’s right,” said the doctor, resuming his brisk, 
everyday tone, “ that’s the way to look at the matter. 
By-the-by ” — lowering his voice again — “ I may as well 
tell you that I was one of the party who helped to find 
the poor gentleman,” and he motioned with his head 
towards the corpse. “Yes” — as the other made a 
sudden step towards him — “he was in the fourth 
carriage from the engine, a first class carriage it was, 
and he was the only occupant. This carriage was a 
good deal damaged by the collision, but was only 
partially consumed — we had managed, by that time, 
to form a line with buckets to the nearest pond. 
Indeed, it was thought to be empty, as no cries 
were heard, and it was generally believed that what- 
ever passengers it might have contained had made 
their escape before the flames reached it. But the 
thick smoke, which surrounded the w r hole of the front 
portion of the train, prevented anyone from seeing 
what was going on forward. Of course, the suppo- 
sition is that he was disabled, perhaps killed outright, 
by the effects of the collision ; for the carriage was 
much damaged, and we had some considerable diffi- 
culty in extricating him.” 


DR. JEREMIAH CARTWRIGHT. 


85 


The young man nodded his head, and an expression 
of relief spread itself over his countenance. 

“ I should like to think that,” he said. “ It would 
be a great alleviation if I could believe he perished 
like that, instead of enduring the agony of that other 
hideous death,” and, as he spoke, he shuddered and 
set his teeth together. 

“ Depend upon it, that was the truth of the matter,” 
rejoined the little doctor. “He might have been 
struck senseless by a blow upon the head. At any- 
rate, I shall find out that when I make my examination 
of the remains. I don’t know whether you care to 

stop while I ? No ? ” in answer to a violent shake 

of the head. “ Well, perhaps it’s better not. But, 
before, you go ” — as the other made a step towards the 
door — “ you may as well give me a few particulars of 
the deceased. Name, age, profession, residence, etc.” 

Dr. Cartwright produced a plethoric note book and 
a stumpy pencil, and consigned the items of informa- 
tion which he succeeded in extracting to its keeping. 

“ That reminds me,” he continued, as he closed and 
replaced it in his pocket, “ there will probably be some 
papers and things, which will be given up to you after 
the inquest. As the lower portion of the extremities 
only have been consumed ” — laying his hand on the 
cloth which concealed that part of the body — “ they 
will, no doubt, be in a state of tolerable preservation. 
We should probably have been able to identify the 
unfortunate gentleman -by their means, without any 
outside assistance, but there has been no time, up to 
the present, to go into such matters. We have been 
too much occupied picking up the human fragments 
and sorting them out to the best of our ability. Any- 
thing in the shape of money or valuables has been 
taken charge of separately.” 


86 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ And you think,” Ted Burritt inquired, “ that the 
examination will show you how my father died? ” 

The doctor nodded his head. “ I might have been 
able to have told before this, but for Mrs. Johnson 
— I forget whether I mentioned her before — twins ! you 
know, a boy and a girl. Hang the woman ! I believe 
she thinks that the entire responsibility of keeping up 
the population rests upon her ! No wonder people are 
driven to emigrate I As I told her last time, ‘ Mrs. 
Johnson,’ I said, ‘ there’s such a thing as over-doing 
it. Why don’t you give someone else a chance?’ 
But it’s no use talking to her, not a bit.” 

At any other time these remarks would have 
provoked a smile from the listener; as it was, he 
merely turned to leave the vestry. 

As he laid his hand upon the door, the doctor, who 
had divested himself of his coat and waistcoat and was 
rolling up his shirt sleeves, said, “ You remain for the 
inquest, I suppose?” 

“ When ? ” began the young man. 

But the garrulous little gentleman did not allow 
him to finish. “ Monday morning — twelve o’clock,” 
he jerked out. “ You’ll find the place very full, but 
very likely you’ll be able to get a bed' somewhere. If 
not — come to me and I’ll put you up. Very foolish of 
me,” he continued to himself in an undertone, shaking 
his head, “ but I’ve taken a fancy to the young chap. 
I’ve an idea that there’s something in him.” 

Ted Burritt, moved by this generous offer on the 
part of a stranger, thanked him in a few broken but 
heartfelt words. 

“ Good-bye,” said the doctor, nodding at him, 
encouragingly. “ See you at the inquest, if not before 
— don’t forget — Jeremiah Cartwright, surgeon.” 

The other left him to his work and passed out of 


DR. JEREMIAH CARTWRIGHT. 


87 


the church. There was still a crowd in the chancel 
inspecting the blackened remains. But he paid no 
attention to them. His task was accomplished — he 
had found his father, and now his next duty must be 
to send the melancholy tidings home. 

He made his way back to the station, and found 
that another train had just arrived bearing a still 
further load of anxious, grief stricken inquirers. 

He wrote out a telegraphic message and consigned 
it to one of the clerks ; not one of whom had had his 
hand off his instrument all night. 

It was now about eight o’clock and the sun was out 
and shining brilliantly, as though in mockery of the 
scene of devastation below. 

On the line groups of men, under proper super- 
intendence, were still busily engaged in searching 
among the heaps of debris. 

As Ted Burritt stood and watched them at their 
work, suddenly the thought flashed across his mind 
again — his father’s friend 1 What had become of him? 


CHAPTER X. 


A STARTLING DISCOVERT. 

T HE telegram which Ted Burritt sent to his sister 
was as follows : 

“ Have found my father. Am remaining until after the inquest. 
Break the news gently.” 

Having disposed of this duty, it occurred to him 
that he would be the better for a wash and a meal. 
Even the death of our dearest relative does not do 
away with the necessity for these everyday concerns; 
and now that the suspense was at an end and he knew 
the worst (or thought he did so), the young man be- 
came aware of the fact that he had eaten very little 
dinner the day before, and nothing at all since. Now 
that the re-action had set in, he was conscious of 
being not only hungry and exhausted, but dusty and 
unshorn. 

There was an unassuming little inn not far from 
where he stood. It looked clean and inviting to the 
weary young fellow, and thither he bent his steps — 
only to find that the modest little hostelry was already 
besieged by those whose errand had been the same as 
his own ; not to mention several of the survivors of the 
accident, who, even though they might have got off 
scot free, as far as bodily injuries were concerned, had 
been incapacitated by the shock. He was told by the 
landlord himself, almost before he had time to frame 
the inquiry, that they were full up to the hay-loft ; but 
it was just possible that he might find someone in the 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


89 


village who might be able to take him in. There was 
old Mrs. Jinman, she had a room to let, and would, no 
doubt, be willing to let it reasonable; though just now, 
what with trains full of people coming down from 
London and offering almost anything for a lodging, 
people were putting up their prices according, “ Which 
showed that it was an ill wind that blew nobody 
good ; not that he wished to speak unfeeling like, but 
with oats the price they were, a railway accident, once 
m a while, wasn’t to be despised.” 

In the meanwhile, mine host strongly recommended 
the gentleman to go and secure old Mother Jinman’s 
room, before it got snapped up by somebody else, “ as 
she was a decent old body, as had buried a husband 
and six children 1 ” 

This last being added as though it were a certificate 
of unimpeachable respectability. 

A small urchin, who was hanging about the door, 
was induced, by the prospect of twopence, to show the 
way to the old dame’s cottage — one of the regulation 
type, with white walls, thatched roof, lattice windows 
and a door standing open — which exposed the interior, 
not forgetting the customary and favourite trophy, 
consisting of the family Bible, the best tea-tray, and a 
china shepherdess. 

Old Mrs. Jinman herself was a comfortable looking old 
party, in spite of her manifold afflictions and bereave- 
ments, in a cap with a double frill, and a little plaid 
shawl crossed over her shoulders and tied behind. 

On learning the errand which had brought the 
stranger to her door, she commiserated him as “a 
poor, dear young gentleman,” owned that her upstairs 
room was to let, and offered at once to take him in 
and do for him — which had a suspicious sound, but 
is a generally accepted term amongst those who take 


90 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


in lodgers, and very often do “do for them” in 
more ways than one. Having seen the room, a funny 
little place up under the roof, in which he could barely 
stand upright, but whieh, spotlessly clean as it was, 
seemed a very haven of rest to the worn out young 
man, and having expressed himself as satisfied and 
paid five shillings in advance, as a token of good faith, 
the old dame departed in search of new laid eggs, 
from her own hens, to serve up for her new lodger’s 
breakfast. 

In the meantime, the young man threw himself into 
a chair with a heavy sigh, which the good old soul 
heard as she shut the door upon him. 

“Poor, dear young gentleman,” she repeated to 
herself, “ ’e’s talcin’ on dreadful. I can see that by ’is 
’air alone — looks as though ’e’d bin pulled back’ards 
through a gooseberry bush. I do ’ope as them dratted 
fowls ’as bin doin’ somethin’ asides clackin’, with that 
poor young feller with nothin’ inside ’im but sorrer, as 
is a poor dish to make a meal of.” 

She returned to the room, in about half an hour’s 
time, laden with a tray, which contained the homely 
but excellent country fare she had prepared, and, 
finding no notice taken of the knock with which she 
announced the arrival of breakfast, pushed open the 
door and entered. 

She found the new lodger fast asleep on his chair, 
with his head resting on the table, and, depositing her 
tray also thereon, stood regarding him with motherly 
solicitude. 

“Poor, dear young gentleman,” she murmured to 
herself, “ if ’e don’t look dead beat ! Bin up all night, 
I shouldn’t wonder, a trapesing about arter them 
cprpses. If it ain’t enough to make anybody ’as 
’adn’t bin brought up religious, with church every 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


91 


Sunday reg’lar and the dinner at the baker’s, take to 
chapel goin’ and bad ways 1 I’ve buried seven myself, 
and I thought ’ard things o’ the Lord at the time; 
but it was all done decent, and I’ve got ’em all in a 
row with their names and ages, and not a bit ’ere and 
a bit there, and that as dry as a chip and as black as 
my Sunday gown. Ah, it all comes o’ flyin’ in the 
face o’ Providence, and tryin’ to make ’ot water do the 
work o’ brute beasts ! I wonder what I’d best do ? 
Seems a pity to wake ’im up now that ’e’s sleepin’ so 
peaceful, with ’is body all o’ a twist and ’is ’ed on the 
bare table. I’ll jest put the breakfast by ’im, so as ’e 
can see it when ’e wakes, which I ’opes it won’t be 
long fust, as, arter the trouble I took in b’ilin’ ’is eggs, 
would be a pity.” 

She left the room, closing the door behind her, and 
still the young man slept on, in spite of his constrained 
attitude and the hardness of his pillow. 

Another half-hour passed, at the end of which time, 
another step was heard ascending the crazy little 
wooden staircase — a firmer step, but at the same time 
lighter, than the other ; and another voice — this time 
a masculine one — might have been heard to say, “ All 
right, Mrs. Jinman ; — don’t you trouble ; — will 
announce myself ! ” 

Which the speaker proceeded to do — first of all by 
the application of his knuckles, which, proving ineffec- 
tual, was followed by the lifting of the latch, and the 
appearance of the figure of Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright 
upon the threshold. 

“He, too, contemplated the sleeping figure doubt- 
fully. “ Humph ! ” he remarked, half-aloud. “ Asleep, 
eh ? Good thing, too ; gone through a lot ; worn him- 
self out. Seems a pity to wake him, especially for 
such news as I’ve got to give him. Hullo 1 What’s 


92 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


this ? Breakfast, eh ? All got cold, too ! Better wake 
him up after all ! ” 

This he did v6ry gently ; and Ted Burritt started up, 
rubbing his eyes. “ Where am I ? — Is that you, May? ” 
— (“ Wonder who the deuce May is ? ” thought the 
doctor. “ Takes me for her — compliment that ! ”) 

Then, recognizing the situation as well as the per- 
sonality of the individual who confronted him, 

“ O Lord ! ” he cried, with a groan, “ I’d forgotten 
all about it ! ” 

“ Now then,” said the doctor, briskly ; “ here I am, 
you see — found you out — inquired at the * Wheatsheaf * 
— landlord said he’d recommended Mother Jinman’s 
to a gent who seemed struck all of a heap — guessed it 
was you, and came on here. Found you fast asleep in 
your chair, with a very good breakfast being spoilt.” 

Ted Burritt pulled himself together. “ It was very 
kind of you, doctor, to take this trouble for an entire 
stranger ” — (“ Don’t call a man I’ve met twice in one 
day a stranger,” interpolated the little man) — “ I meant 
to have gone back to the church on the chance of 
seeing you, after I’d had a wash and something to eat, 
but, somehow or other I fell asleep.” 

“ Extraordinary circumstance ! ” put in the doctor, 
jocosely, “ especially on the part of a man who has 
been up all night. Have done it myself before now.” 

“But tell me,” inquired the other, eagerly, “what 
the exam ” 

The doctor interrupted him with a gesture. “ What’s 
that I see?” looking at the viands through his gold- 
rimmed spectacles. “Tea? eggs? butter? cream? 
brown bread? My news will keep; your breakfast 
won’t ; or, rather has been kept too long already. Sit 
down at once and dispose of the contents of that tray, 
or you don’t get another word out of me.” 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


93 


There was nothing to do but to obey. “ Won’t you 
take something yourself ? — a cup of tea, or ?” 

“ Had my breakfast a couple of hours ago. Get on 
with your meal, and don’t talk. You’re only wasting 
my time, and I’ve got to go and look after those twins 
— Mrs. Johnson, wife of Johnson, the carrier — decent 
enough sort of man — troublesome wife — I’ll take a 
seat, nothing more.” 

He did so, and kept a keen but kindly eye on the 
young fellow, as he swallowed his luke warm tea and 
cold eggs, with the air of one who was accustomed to 
see his prescriptions carried out. 

Ted was astonished to find how hungry he was, and 
had soon cleared the board ; though, at the same time, 
he found it rather embarrassing to feel that he was an 
object of interest to an individual in gold -rimmed 
spectacles, who stared at him persistently through 
them, and kept up a running commentary under his 
breath all the time. Some of the ejaculations, too, 
which caught his ear were decidedly of a nature to 
arouse curiosity on the part of the hearer, who now 
and then could not avoid overhearing such fragments 
as these — “Mysterious affair — should like to get at 
the bottom of it. Talk about sensational incidents ! 
I’ve had enough sensation stuffed into the last twenty- 
four hours to last the rest of my life. Wonder how he’ll 
take it 1 ” etc., etc. 

“And now,” said the young man, turning round 
upon him, “tell me what is the result you have arrived 
at?” 

It was rather strange, but the moment he put this 
question the little doctor shifted his glance, and merely 
answered, “ Humph ! ” while he seemed to be looking 
hard at nothing in particular. 

“ You know what I mean I ” was the somewhat im- 


94 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


patient response. “ Did my father meet his death 

through the shock of the collision or by the ? ” 

“ Your father was not killed in the railway accident 
at all,” was the paralyzing reply, as the giver of it still 
avoided the eye of the questioner. 

“What!” shouted the latter, leaping to his feet; 
“ do you mean to tell me that he is not dead? — that 

that was not his dead body I ? ” 

“Stop! stop!” interrupted the doctor; “you are 
going too fast. I did not say that your father was not 
dead, or that it was not his dead body that lies in 
the vestry of the old church. I merely said that he 
had not come by his death in the manner that was at 
first taken for granted.” 

“ What do you mean? For Heaven’s sake, explain 
yourself and do not talk in riddles 1 ” 

“ What I mean is this,” was the answer given with 
great confidence and decision, as he once more allowed 
himself to meet the other man’s eye : “ Your father 
was not burnt to death, as you feared, and he did not 
perish through the shock of the collision, which you 
hoped might be the case, as being the more merciful 
death of the two. Your father was shot I ” 

Had the young man received a bullet wound him- 
self, he could not have started more violently than he 
did on hearing these words. 

“Shot I” he cried — “shot!” Then, passing his 
hand across his forehead — “ I’m not dreaming, am 
I?” 

Dr. Cartwright shook his head. 

“No, my boy, you’re not dreaming, except inasmuch 
as life itself is a dream. Your father, I repeat, met his 
death by foul play — that is putting aside the question 
of sui ” 

'• Suicide! ” cried the young man, snatching at the 


A STARTLING DISCOVERY. 


95 


word, as it were. “ Suicide ! My father ! Oh ! you 
must be mad ! ” 

The doctor shook his head again. 

“ It’s a wonder I’m not,” he half murmured to him- 
self, “what with the accident and Mrs. Johnson’s 
twins, and now this further complication.” Then, con- 
tinuing in his ordinary voice — “ Try and take a 
common-sense view of the matter,” he said, rising and 
coming towards him. “ The case lies like this. When 
we rescued the body of the unfortunate gentleman from 
the half ruined jiarriage, in which it was discovered, it 
was taken for granted that his death was the result of 
the accident ; though, at the same time, there was a 
little surprise felt that, under the circumstances, he 
had not succeeded in making his escape before the 
carriage took fire. There was nothing to point to the 
contrary, and, in fact, no one dreamt for a moment of 
any other fate having been possible. Consequently” 
— here he became very impressive — “you may judge 
of my surprise when I discovered, on examining the 
body after you had left the church, that death had 
resulted from a bullet wound in the right temple, 
which had traversed the head' completely, and must 
have caused instantaneous death.” 

“ But,” stammered Ted, “ I saw no wound or ” 

“ Ah, no ! you wouldn’t. You see, it was partially 
concealed by the hair, and there was very little bleed- 
ing, and that principally from the orifice of exit, the 
ball having passed completely through.” 

Ted Burritt sank back into his chair, half stu- 
pefied. 

“ What does it mean ? ’* he groaned. “ Oh ! I can’t 
believe it 1 ” 

“ My dear young man,” said the doctor, with com- 
passionate scorn, “ I’ve been an army surgeon — late of 


96 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


the 47th — and I ought to know something about bullet 
wounds. I’ve dressed a few in my time.” 

“I can’t realize it,” groaned the other. “Who 
could have done it? — unless he was robbed.” 

Dr. Cartwright shook his head. 

“His watch and chain and valuables were taken 
charge of, like those of the other passengers, and a 
considerable amount of money was found upon him. 
Whatever the object, it was not that, and whoever 
committed the act must have succeeded in making his 
escape before the collision, for, as I have told you 
before, your father was the only occupant of the 
carriage when he was discovered, and ” 

He paused, for he noticed that the young man’s 
mind seemed to be trying to grasp something which 
apparently eluded it. 

“ The thing will be,” he continued, after waiting a 
few seconds, “ supposing we entirely abandon all idea 
of suicide — in fact, from one thing and another, I was 
inclined from the first to put that entirely on one side 

Yes, yes, I know,” as the other made another 

violent attempt at disavowal, “ the thing will be to 
discover if he had a travelling companion, and who 
that travelling companion ” 

Ted Burritt brought down his hand upon the table, 
with a force that made that article of furniture shiver. 

“I know the man!” he cried. “Or, if I do not 
know now, I will never rest until I have found out 1 ” 


CHAPTER XI. 


SUSPICIONS, 



HEW ! ” whistled the doctor. “ Then you 


-L know something about the affair ? You have 
your suspicions?” 

“ Suspicions! ” cried the young man; “more than 
suspicions ! I see it all — if I only knew the name.” 

“Come,” said the doctor, “it is your turn to 
explain. At present you are talking riddles, after 
accusing me of indulging in that practice. Not that I 
wish for one moment to appear to pry into your 
private affairs, but you know it must all come out at 
the inquest, and ” 

“ Don’t talk like that,” interrupted the other. “ You 
have been very good to me and there is nothing to 

conceal — only ” He knitted his brows and seemed 

to give way to perplexity. “ You see it is so strange 
not knowing the man’s name.” 

“ What man’s name ? ” asked the doctor. 

“What man?” was the impatient reply. “Why, 
the murderer, to be sure.” 

The little doctor elevated his eyebrows. “You’re 
going ahead rather fast, aren’t you? Half an hour 
ago you knew nothing whatever about the matter and 
were perfectly prepared to believe that your father 
perished in the general catastrophe. And now, here 
you are ready to swear to his murderer, and that in less 
than five minutes after having almost refused to credit 
my statement as to the existence of the bullet wound I ” 


97 


7 


98 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 

“ Ah ! ” sighed the young man, heavily ; “ but you 
don’t know all that went before, or the reasons that I 
have for the belief. But I tell you,” he cried, clenching 
his fist and grinding the words out between his teeth, 
“ I’ll hunt him down and shoot him like a dog — who- 
ever he is 1 ” 

“There you go again,” remarked the doctor, calmly. 
“ You’ve a lot to prove first ; and even then, I should 
have to set my face against the shooting theory. It 
doesn’t do — at least, not in these parts; I tell you, 
I’ve had some experience in my time. Summary jus- 
tice, lynch law, and taking the law into one’s own 
hands may be all very well in some countries ; but it 
won’t do here, and you can’t go shooting a man like a 
dog, as you call it — though why a dog more than any 
other animal?— without paying the penalty. But,” he 
continued, cheerfully, “ of course, you’re only talking 
nonsense.” 

The young man brought his fist down upon the table 
again, with another terrific bang. 

“ I tell you ” he cried again. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” was the hasty reply. “But 
first of all, suppose you tell me how the case lies, and 
what reasons you have for your suspicions. By-the- 
by, did your father ever carry firearms about him?” 

“ Never,” was the answer, given most emphatically. 
“ In fact, to tell you the truth, he had a peculiar ob- 
jection to anything of the kind — a sort of nervousness 
which he never quite got over, dating from a sad acci- 
dent which he witnessed when he was a young man ; 
when he saw someone shot through the head, while 
out shooting, in consequence of the trigger catching in 
the hedge, through which the man who carried the gun 
was forcing his way. Good heavens ! there is some- 
thing strangely terrible, to my mind, in this fate, of all 


SUSPICIONS. 


99 


others, befalling him at the last ! ” and he dropped his 
head upon his hands. 

“ Humph I ” was the reply ; “ superstitious people 
might see some sort of a connection between the two 
incidents — but, of course, it’s merely a coincidence.” 

“ Another ! ” groaned Ted, his mind reverting to his 
sister’s dream and his own nocturnal experience, 
“why, it has been nothing else but coincidences all 
through 1 ” 

“ I wish you would just begin at the beginning and 
tell me all you know about it. I want to establish 
the fact of the improbability of the deceased having, 
under any circumstances, taken his own life, which, as 
you say, he was never known to possess or carry any 
sort of weapon ” 

“ Carry anything of the sort about him ! ” was the 
exclamation. “ Why, it’s my belief that you couldn’t 
have induced him to touch such a thing, and what is 
more, he never would allow me to possess anything of 
the kind ; and that in spite of the burglar alarms which 
from time to time used to agitate the neighbourhood. 
Poor old dad 1 I believe he thought a pistol would go 
off if you so much as looked at it hard enough, and he 
was afraid of having his precious son brought home 
with the top of his head blown off.” 

He gave a dreary laugh and stared straight in front 
of him as though he saw it all before him. Then 
catching the doctor’s eye, which seemed to have a 
reviving effect, drew himself up. 

“ I will tell you all I know, as well as what I only 
guess. Two days ago — that is to say, on Wednesday 
—my father received a letter, which appeared to have 
a peculiar effect upon him. I must tell you, too, that 
for some time before the letter arrived he seemed a 
little strange in his manner. It is evident to me now 

7—2 


100 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


that he was expecting the letter, and that it was that 
which made him nervous and fidgety and unlike him- 
self. The letter came in the evening, and immediately 
upon its receipt he shut himself up in his study, and I 
saw nothing more of him until breakfast the next 
morning, when, to our surprise, he announced his 
intention of taking a short journey; giving no other 
explanation than that he was going as far as Dover, 
partly on business — though we had reason to believe 
that the business was only an appointment with a 
friend. Even then, we thought that he seemed a little 
strange and uneasy, and he appeared to resent any 
allusion being made, either to this sudden journey or 
the letter he had received the night before. I may 
mention here that it was a most unusual thing for my 
father to leave home alone, either for business or plea- 
sure, and never, on any previous occasion, had he 
made any mystery of his movements or proceedings. 
We were, consequently, the more surprised at the 
unexpected nature of his announcement, and also at 
the information that on his return he should probably 

be accompanied by a friend ” 

“ The same friend whom he was going to meet ? ” put 
in the doctor. 

“ Presumably.” 

“ And the friend’s name ? — of course he told you ? ” 
“ No,” was the answer, “ that was just what he did 
not do.” 

“ Humph 1 ” said the doctor, “ that was rather 

Well, never mind. Go on ! ” 

“And now,” continued the other, “I am going to 
tell you something that will make you despise me, as 
being one of those superstitious fools whom, no doubt, 
you regard with the profoundest contempt.” 

“You’re rushing to conclusions again,” said the 


SUSPICIONS. 101 

doctor, calmly. " But never mind. Let’s hear all 
about it.” 

“The night after my father left home, I was 
awakened suddenly in the middle of the night, by 
his voice calling me — ‘ Ted ! Ted ! ’ ” — (“ So you’re Ted, 
are you?” thought the doctor) — “And I answered 
him back, and ” 

“ At anyrate, you thought so,” put in the little man, 
briskly, “ which comes to pretty well the same thing 
in the end. Why, my dear fellow, how many times 
do you think I have waked up in the middle of the 
night, and could have sworn I’ve heard the night-bell, 
and have got up and called down the pipe, only to find 
I’ve been dreaming ? Pooh ! That’s nothing 1 I’m 
disappointed — I really am. I quite thought you’d got 
something really worth relating.” 

Ted Burritt went on rather doggedly. “ The next 
morning my sister May came to me in trouble about a 
'dream she’d had the same night. She dreamt that 
something dreadful had happened, or was about to 
happen, to her father. Of course, I made game of it ” 

“ Of course you did,” interrupted Dr. Cartwright; 
“ and quite right of you, too. Always make game of 
this sort of thing whenever you come across it. I 
always do myself, on principle. If I didn’t, I should 
have half the parish sending for me whenever they 
had the nightmare. At the same time,” he added, in 
a tone of concession, “ I admit that it certainly was — 
a coincidence. Anything more I can’t acknowledge 
— my reputation won’t allow it.” 

“ Then you really believe that there was nothing at 
all remarkable in the fact of both my sister and myself 
receiving something that might be regarded as a warn- 
ing of my father’s fate the night before he died ? ” 

“That’s my professional opinion,” was the cautious 


102 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


reply. “You had been dwelling upon the subject, 
puzzling over it during the day, and in your dream 
your thoughts naturally pursued the same course, 
with some additional horrors thrown in, owing probably 
to a morsel of some undigested substance you had par- 
taken of ” — (Ted thought of the lobster and his own 
remarks thereon.) — “ That’s my professional opinion. 
My private — strictly private — opinion is that it is one 
of those mysterious and inexplicable combination of 
circumstances which occur from time to time, for the 
express purpose, so far as I can see, of puzzling our 
brains and annoying us generally, by refusing to allow 
any common sense interpretation to be put upon them ; 
which, in fact — like Mrs. Johnson’s twins — refuse to be 
explained away. This is my private opinion, you will 
remember, and not intended for publication. As a 
physician, I scoff at the supernatural, and attribute it 
to an underdone potatoe or a pork chop; in my 
private capacity, as a mere individual” — and the 
doctor rubbed his hair (which he wore cropped close 
to his head — military style) vigorously the wrong way 
— “in my private capacity,” he' repeated, “I — in 
short — I give it up. But, surely, that is not all you 
have to tell me ? Because, if so, I must own you’ve 
very little to go upon in the shape of ” 

“ Yesterday morning,” interrupted the young man, 

we received a telegram. It said Here it is — you 

can see for yourself.” 

Dr. Cartwright brought his spectacles to bear upon 
the document. “ Humph 1 Hal — 

“ 4 Am returning to-day by the 4 - 30 train. Shall be home to 
dinner. Friend accompanies me.’ ” 

He read it through twice before returning it. Then 
added, “ Your father did not return. Consequently, he 


SUSPICIONS. 


103 


was not home to dinner ; and the friend, whoever he 
was, did not accompany him — and you say you have no 
idea what the name of this friend your father went to 
meet was? ” 

“ To my knowledge I have never heard it mentioned. 
I thought I knew all my father’s friends, but this one 
must have been an entire stranger to me, and my 
father must have had some reason for ” 

He stopped abruptly, respect for his dead parent 
held back the words upon his tongue. But Dr. Cart- 
wright apparently guessed the remainder of the 
sentence. 

“You mean, your father must have had some reason 
for concealing the fact of his previous acquaintance 
with the man he went to meet at Dover ? ” 

The young man’s face flushed. 

“You’re not daring to insinuate anything against 

“There, there,” interrupted the little man, sooth- 
ingly, “you needn’t fire up at me just because the 
same idea occurred to me which had previously 
occurred to yourself. Hundreds of men have ac- 
quaintances they have no reason to be proud of; 
thousands have committed some little- folly in their 
youth, which they do not wish to be reminded of, still 
less brought to the knowledge of their friends. My 
dear boy ” — laying his hand upon the shoulder of the 
young man before him — “ I never had the pleasure of 
meeting your father until it was unfortunately too late 
for us to make each other’s acquaintance, but I am 
sure, if he was anything like his son, he was an 
upright, honest gentleman. There — you needn’t shake 
my arm off to make up for wanting to knock me down. 
But for all that, you know, you mustn’t take offence at 
my words, because they apply equally well to anybody, 


104 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


and there may have been youthful indiscretions — 
something connected with the past and with this indi- 
vidual in particular that he would rather have forgot- 
ten. There might have been some hold upon him ” 

Ted Burritt shook his head angrily. 

“ I tell you, no ! I won’t believe it ! I won’t even 
listen to such a supposition for a moment ! I tell you 
— but there, you never knew him 1 ” And he turned 
his head away. 

“ It’s perfectly astonishing, the fancy I seem to have 
taken to the young chap,” remarked the doctor, under 
his breath. “ Won’t hear a word against his father. 
Quite right, too. Wish there were a few more of his 
sort about. I wonder what the sifter’s like? Ought 
to be a decent sort of girl if she’s anything like her 
brother. 

“ To return to our subject,” he said, aloud. “ You 
insist on connecting this same unknown personage with 
the mysterious circumstances of your father’s death ? ” 

“Who else could it be?” exclaimed Ted. “You 
yourself have put the motive of robbery out of the 
question I ” 

“ Certainly,” was the reply. “ But having disposed 
of that motive only makes it the more necessary to 
provide another.” ^ 

“ And there again you supply it yourself,” burst out 
the other. “ You spoke of the possibility of my father 
having something discreditable in connection with his 
past life ” 

“Not discreditable,” interrupted the doctor, “only 
indiscreet.” 

“ I can’t stop to choose my words,” was the im- 
petuous rejoinder ; “ but you did say it or imply it of 
my father. Also, that this man, who so suddenly 
makes his appearance, probably from abroad, might 


SUSPICIONS. 


105 


have some hold upon him, also in connection with the 
past, which would account for his reticence and what- 
ever else was unusual in his conduct.” 

“I wonder what he’s leading up to?” murmured 
the doctor.” 

“Now,” proceeded the other, “reverse your impli- 
cation. Apply what you have said of the one to the 
other, and there you have your solution of the mystery 
— your motive, and whatever else you require.” 

He paused, breathless with the vehemence with 
which he had pronounced these last words. 

“Well,” said the doctor, wagging his head sagely, 
“ I don’t deny it. There you have a motive of a sort 
— not a very strong one. But, before you can proceed 
further with it, you have to establish the important 
fact as to that other occupant of the carriage. You 
have to prove that your father did not travel alone, and 
that being done, whether it was possible for the other to 
have made his escape after the event. You will also have 
to prove that your father had some knowledge of this 
other, some hold upon him, which made it to his 
advantage to put him out of the way. And, when you 
consider that the individual in question, even if he did 
travel by that same train and in that same carriage, 
was actually the recipient of an invitation to your 
own house, there seems to be something so improbable, 
so cold blooded about the whole concern, that ” 

“ And is not that exactly what it is ? A cold blooded, 
dastardly outrage upon one who never injured a soul, 
and who was one of the kindest and best of men. Oh, 
Lord 1 I can’t stand the thought of it.” 

And he thrust one hand in among his abundant 
locks and made as though he would have torn them 
out by handfuls. 

“ Now I’ve started him off again,” murmured the 


106 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 

doctor, remorsefully. “ Why couldn’t I have left well 
alone? Anyhow, I must be going now.” 

So, drawing himself up and squaring his shoulders 
in his most military style, he remarked, falling back 
into his ejaculatory manner, “ Must be off now. Got 
a whole family down with the measles. They’ll all be 
down upon me if I don’t look sharp. Had no inten- 
tion of staying all this time. Have an hour to spare 
to-morrow, if I look in after dinner?” 

“ What for? — of course,” Ted replied, in one breath. 

“Good-bye,” said the doctor; “must be off now — 
double quick. No business to be idling about like this, 
with all my rounds to make.” Then, as he laid his 
hand upon the latch, “Found the wound in your 
father’s head to-day. To-morrow look for the bullet 
that made it. Good-bye. Can’t stop another moment,” 
and he was gone. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE FOURTH CARRIAGE FROM THE ENGINE. • 

T HE next morning, being Sunday, everyone from 
far and near repaired to the church, which con- 
tained within its walls the materials for such a funeral 
sermon as, in all its ancient history, it had never before 
seen gathered together there. 

The remains, now all decently inclosed in coffins, 
still lay within the precincts of the chancel, where they 
must remain until after the inquest on the following day. 

The church, which was of no great size, was filled to 
overflowing. Eor not only were there many mourners 
present, who had come post-haste from all parts of the 
kingdom, but strangers for miles round, attracted by 
the morbid curiosity which draws crowds, as with a 
cart-rope, wherever there is a prevalence of the ghastly 
element, blocked the aisles, filled the porch, and even 
occupied the pulpit stairs. 

People who came to gape and gaze, and then, going 
home to the Sunday’s dinner, exchanged experiences 
over the shoulder of mutton and baked potatoes; 
remarking, as they wiped their mouths, that it was a 
sad sight, but one they wouldn’t have missed for any- 
thing you could have offered them. At the same time, 
they were compelled to own that there were not so 
many bodies as they had confidently expected ; but 
then, nothing ever did come up to your expectations in 
this world 1 

Ted Burritt had a seat assigned him in one of the 
front pews. A glance at his face, on the part of the 

107 


108 


TEE FATAL REQUEST. 


.functionary who discharged the office of ushering the 
people into their places, seemed to be sufficient to show 
to which portion of the congregation he belonged. 
Consequently he found himself in a seat which com- 
manded a full view of the chancel and its double row 
of coffins, several of which had now had their contents 
claimed by the evidence of some article of jewellery, 
some morsel of clothing which remained intact, or some 
other scanty means of identification, which was eagerly 
seized upon by friends and relatives as a means of 
rescuing them from the common grave, which awaited 
those other unrecognizable heaps of ashes. 

Ted Burritt knew that his father’s body now lay 
there within the chancel rails, in one of those hastily 
constructed coffins, which had been roughly put to- 
gether to meet the sudden and unprecedented demand. 

It was evident that a certain number of seats had 
been reserved for those who, it was felt, had the 
greatest claim to them, for he observed, after a short 
time, that the same pew into which he had been 
ushered also contained two of his fellow passengers on 
that ever memorable journey — the poor widow and the 
other woman, who had attracted his attention by tying 
and untying knots in her handkerchief. 

The former, it was impossible to doubt, had found 
her worst fears realized, for she still cried silently and 
ceaselessly behind the shelter of her veil. The other 
woman, whom he now guessed to be about forty years 
of age, and who was good-looking in a sort of hard- 
featured way, was also clothed in deep black garments ; 
but there was a suppressed glitter in her eye, and that 
same restless movement of the fingers, as she perpetually 
rustled the leaves of her prayer-book, which betrayed 
the existence of some strong but suppressed feeling, 
which seemed to be more like excitement than grief. 


THE FOURTH CARRIAGE. 


109 


But, then, we are all at liberty to show our grief in 
our own peculiar way. 

In the other pews round him he recognized other 
faces — those of fellow-travellers or others whom he 
had seen at the station or in the church in the early 
morning of the day before. Among these there were, 
of course, happy exceptions to the general rule. There 
were those who had found the living where they had 
looked for the dead, and who, after a few hours of 
torturing suspense, had discovered the one they sought, 
either in the village or in some of the neighbouring 
hamlets, and were present on that morning with a 
chastened joy and gratitude unspeakable. 

Among the ordinary members of the congregation, 
Ted Burritt caught sight of his landlady, Mrs. Jinman, 
who, with her dinner at the baker’s and her mind at 
ease, was present, partly out of respect to her lodger, 
and partly because, as she herself said, “Having 
buried seven, she knew what the feeling was like.” 

Almost in a line with her he saw the now well known 
face of Jeremiah Cartwright, M.D., who, however, was 
not destined to remain long present. 

Hardly had the service — the most impressive ser- 
vice that those present had ever attended, or would 
attend again — commenced, when someone forced their 
way up the crowded aisle, where the people stood two 
rows deep, and made a whispered communication, 
whereat the face of Dr. Jeremiah became suddenly 
overcast; and, as he made his way out, those who 
were near enough might have heard him remark to 
himself, in a tone of great exasperation : “ Old Mrs. 
Hitchcock — dying again — makes the third time in the 
last fortnight — aggravating old woman — will outlast 
half the parish after all ! ” 

Ted Burritt was very, tired, and as the service went 


110 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


on, he struggled hard to overcome the sensation of 
intense weariness which possessed him. He had 
remained up until a late hour writing home a long 
account of the tragedy — softening the details to meet 
the eyes of his mother and sister — but obliged to 
admit much that was very painful. 

After some deliberation he had decided to say 
nothing about the suspicion of foul play. To-morrow, 
after the inquest, he would know more ; but for the 
present they had already enough to bear, without the 
addition of the knowledge of this outrage, this foul 
cowardly murder, to add to their grief. For that it 
was murder, and that of the most dastardly, cold- 
blooded type, he was ready to maintain in the face of 
everybody. 

So he said nothing of these suspicions in his letter 
home; but bade them be of good courage and take 
comfort in the fact that he had reason to believe that 
his father had not suffered much. “ And so long as 
they do not see his face,” he said to himself, “ they 
will never know that I have spoken less than the 
truth.” 

But that morning in church he began to conjure up 
in his mind the expression upon his father’s counten- 
ance as he had last seen it. What meant that look of 
fearful anticipation which he had read thereon ? 

Perhaps he had had time to realize the full horror of 
the crime about to be committed, though he had not 
been able to give an alarm ! Perhaps he had been 
dozing in his corner of the carriage and had been sud- 
denly awakened to find the face of his murderer close 
to his own, with the cold muzzle of the 

He felt himself shudder at the force of his own 
imagination ; his eyes closed, his head drooped. He 
had been unable to obtain mueh sleep the night before, 


THE FOURTH CARRIAGE. 


Ill 


even when he did retire. The over fatigue and his own 
thoughts, either sad or revengeful, had prevented him 
from sleeping until a very late or rather early hour. 
But now he felt that he did not know how to keep 
awake. He was recalled to himself, however, by some 
kindly-disposed and well-meaning individual, whom he 
found to* be gently poking him in the back with a bottle 
of smelling salts, his semi-oblivious condition having 
been taken, especially under the circumstances, for 
symptoms of faintness. 

He declined the bottle, changing colour for a moment 
as he became aware that the eyes of a good many of 
the occupants of the adjoining pews were fixed on him. 

But now the sermon was about to begin, and the 
greyhaired clergyman ascending the pulpit, gave out 
his text, “ Be ye also ready.” 

The subject and the surroundings were such as could 
hardly fail to inspire him, and the sermon he preached 
that morning was one which some of those present 
would never forget. 

Long before it was over, there were sounds of lamen- 
tation and wailing from many of those present, and 
several were compelled to quit the church from the 
violence of their emotion. 

At last it was over, and the numerous and variously 
compounded congregation broke up. 

Those who had merely been present as disinterested 
spectators mostly gathered together in groups among 
the gravestones to discuss the scene and the sermon. 
It was generally agreed that both had been unexcep- 
tionable in their way, and that it was a good thing to 
be shook up and have your feelings worked upon now 
and then. 

“ Mother,” asked a small boy, tugging at his mother’s 
skirts, as she discussed the morning’s proceedings 


112 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


exhaustively with a couple of her intimates, “ when’s 
the berryins to be ? ” 

“You go along with you, you bad boy,” was the 
maternal reprimand; “ you think o’ nothink else but 
enjoyin’ yerself, you don’t.” 

After partaking of a share of the frugal meal from 
the baker’s, Ted sat down to await the arrival of 
Dr. Cartwright. He hoped that nothing unforeseen 
would occur to cause him to put off his visit, for he 
was beginning to rely a good deal upon the energetic 
little man, who had shown himself at once shrewd and 
kindly in his dealings with him. He could scarcely 
believe he had met him yesterday for the first time — 
and here he became aware of a brisk and familiar 
voice below. 

“ How do you find yourself to-day, Mrs. Jinman, 
and how’s your lodger? Hope you’re looking after 
him well; giving him plenty of new laid eggs and 
cream, and that sort of thing? There’s nothing like 
good living to soften the effect of a bereavement.” 

Ted heard the voice gradually mounting the stairs, 
and the next moment the doctor’s head was^put inside 
the door. 

“ Hullo ! ” was his greeting, “ there you are. Well, 
how are you getting on? ” 

Ted said that he felt pretty well. 

“ Glad to hear it,” was the next remark, as the 
maker of it allowed the rest of his body to follow his 
head. “ By-the-by, saw you in church this morning. 
Sad spectacle — very ! Reminded me of * Foxe’s Book 
of Martyrs’ — work I was very partial to as a boy. 
Used to be allowed to look at the pictures on Sunday 
afternoons as a treat, and the worse they were the 
better I liked ’em.” 

Then, perhaps fearing lest he had touched too 


THE FOURTH CARRIAGE. 


113 


roughly upon a painful subject, he hastened to turn 
the conversation. 

“ I suppose you saw I was called out ? ” 

Ted answered that he had observed as much, and 
was going to ask was it 

“Yes,” answered the doctor, without giving him 
time to finish, “ of course* it was that- tiresome old 
Mrs. Hitchcock. Sent word by her nephew that she 
was dying and I must come at once.” 

“And how is she?” asked the young man, feeling 
that, after what the other had done for him, it was the 
least he could do in return to take, or affect to take, 
some interest in his concerns. 

“How is she?” the doctor repeated, indignantly. 
** How’s the Tower of London and the hippopotamus 
at the Zoo? Well, — flourishing. I tell you, sir, that 
old woman ’ll live to be a hundred. She’s only seventy- 
six now, so that’s a nice prospect for me, isn’t it ? ” 

The doctor paused, and glared ferociously through 
his spectacles before continuing — “Look here, now, 
she sent for me this morning — said she was dying. 
When I got there she was sitting up in bed, eating a 
couple of poached eggs on toast ! Asked her what she 
meant by it — where she expected to go to after fetching 
me out of church, the first time I’d been there for six 
months, and all for nothing. Cried — said she didn’t 
know, but hoped it would be some nice place where 
they didn’t charge poor folks a penny apiece for medi- 
cine bottles! Not bad that, eh? Eather had me 
there,” he concluded, rubbing his hands. “ And now 
shall we be off ? ” 

They left the cottage and made their way in the 
direction of the station. 

When they came in sight of the line, they saw that 
there were still parties of men at work, searching 

8 


114 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


among the heaps of rubbish for money or jewellery, or 
anything else that might have survived the general ruin. 

The station master was watching their operations 
from the platform, and to him Dr. Cartwright addressed 
himself. 

“ Look here, Mullins, I want to know what you’ve 
done with that carriage — the fourth from the engine — 
that we managed to save from being quite destroyed 
with the others. The one, you know, in which we 
found ” He whispered the rest in his ear. 

The station master replied, with a glance of curiosity 
and sympathy combined at the young man, who was 
the doctor’s companion, that the carriage, or the re- 
mains of it, had been left at the side of the line, about 
one hundred yards farther down. They soon found it. 

“ Ah, yes,” said the doctor, “ this is the very carriage. 
You see, it is a good deal damaged ; but I think, for 
all that, we may be able to find what we are looking 
for. The first compartment is the one that concerns us.” 

One door of this had been smashed and beaten in by 
the force of the concussion ; the seat had been splin- 
tered, and showed that the fire had caught it in places, 
and the flooring was torn up. The other end of the 
compartment, though less wrecked, had received more 
damage from the fire, the cushions had entirely dis- 
appeared, the woodwork was black and charred, and 
what remained of the door hung from a single hinge. 

“ Now,” said the doctor, taking off his coat before 
clambering in, “you had better stop outside; there 
isn’t room for two of us in here at once. It was in this 
corner ” — indicating that end of the carriage which had 
received least damage from the fire — “ that we found 
him. He was lying there, with his head against the 
back of the compartment, and the lower part of his 
body jammed between the broken door and the seat. 


THE FOURTH CARRIAGE. 


115 


His head, as you might say, rested here,” pointing out 
a particular part of the padding which yet remained. 
“ The bullet, which passed through it, must have lodged 
somewhere about there. If so, we are sure to find it.” 

Cutting what was left of the cloth in strips with his 
knife, he began to pull out the stuffing in handfuls. “ 1 
don’t know whether the railway company would have 
anything to say to this,” he remarked, as he carefully 
passed the material through his fingers, before passing 
it on to his companion outside, who did the same ; 
“ but whenever I’m in doubt about my right to do a cer- 
tain thing, I always do it first and enquire afterwards.” 

There was a noise of something metallic falling. 

“ Hullo ! ” cried the doctor. “ What’s that ? ” 

And, regardless of the consequences to his clothes, 
he began to grope among the shattered remains of the 
flooring. 

In a few seconds he looked up again, flushed and 
grimy, but triumphant. 

He held in his hand a conical-shaped piece of lead. 

“ I thought as much,” he said, as he handed it to the 
other — “ A ball from a revolver 1 ” 


CHAPTER XIII. 


DR. JEREMIAH AT HOME, 


HE inquest, which took place at noon on Monday, 



-L was held in the school house, no other place 
being found large enough for the purpose. Under 
these circumstances, it was necessary to give the 
children a holiday ; one result of this proceeding being 
that the emancipated ones loudly expressed a desire 
that there might be a railway accident every week. 

The jury, having been sworn in, proceeded to view 
the bodies, and on their return from this melancholy 
duty, the coroner, who had been engaged in an animated 
but low-toned discussion with Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright, 
who was present in the double capacity of witness and 
medical adviser, rose and made an unexpected an- 
nouncement, which caused a great sensation among 
the closely packed audience. 

“ It having been brought to my notice that one of 
the supposed victims of the late disastrous affair, 
instead of losing his life, as was concluded at the time, 
through the accident in which so many have, unfor- 
tunately, perished, has come by his death through foul 
play, it is my intention to hold a separate inquiry upon 
the body at the same hour to-morrow. ’ I shall now 
proceed with my inquiry as to the manner in which the 
other passengers met their death. Call the first witness.” 

Later in the day hundreds of people gathered in the 
churchyard to witness the interments. 

The grave diggers had been at work since daybreak. 

The coffins had been brought out from the church, 


116 


DR. JEREMIAH AT HOME. 


117 


after the first portion of the service, and laid in a 
double row upon the grass. 

The body of Silas Burritt had been taken back to the 
vestry, where it would remain until his son fulfilled the 
promise he had made and brought it home. “ Earth 
to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” came the words 
of the burial service, as one by. one the coffins were 
lowered and the first spadeful of earth cast upon them. 

Ted Burritt stood bareheaded beside his new friend, 
the doctor. Not far from them was the woman whom 
the former had remarked twice before. The first time 
during the journey from London, and the second in the 
church at the morning service of the day before, and 
each time had been struck by the singularity of her 
conduct. 

She wore her deep-black garments, but now had 
added to the rest of her costume a long crape veil, such 
as a widow would wear. Her fingers still twisted and 
picked at a little green sprig which she had broken off 
some shrub close by. 

“Poor woman 1” thought Ted, as he involuntarily 
moved a step or two in her direction. She seemed 
quite alone, and had evidently lost her husband in the 
general catastrophe. She was standing looking down 
into an open grave, into which the gravediggers were 
casting shovels of earth. She had apparently not shed 
a single tear. Perhaps her grief was too deep for that 
relief. 

“ Ah ! ” thought the young man, as he noticed her 
fixed, unwavering look and compressed lip, “ there are 
many beside myself who carry a heavy burden of 
sorrow. Doubtless, for all that she appears so out- 
wardly composed, when she returns home she will 
fling herself down and ” 

The woman turned away from the grave with 


118 


TIIE FATAL REQUEST. 


an unfaltering step, and as she passed him, certain 
words fell from her lips which made him think he must 
be dreaming. 

“ Thank goodness I’ve seen the last of him ! He'll 
never trouble me again ! ” 

Ted shuddered as these heartless words struck his 
ear, and also turned away. As he did so a young man 
pushed hastily by him, working his way through the 
crowd. He seemed in great haste and excitement, but 
Ted scarcely noticed him ; he was so taken up with the 
thought of that dreadful woman over whom he had 
just been wasting his sympathy. 

Suddenly there was a commotion among the crowd 
at a little distance, and he heard a sharp cry. 

“ More horrors ! ” he thought to himself. “ Oh 1 I 
shall be glad to get away from this ! ” 

The excitement or hubbub still continued. Then 
the crowd opened, as though to make way for some- 
one, and he saw the same young man who had just 
pushed by him so roughly, leading a figure in black, 
whom he recognized as the other widow, whose hope- 
less grief he had twice before been a witness of, but 
who now was clinging to the arm of the youth who 
supported her, and seemed as though her sudden joy 
were almost more than she could bear. 

“ I was never in the train at all,” he was assuring 
her over and over again. “ It was quite a mistake ! 
What made you think you recognized me ? ” 

“ There was a bit of cloth just like your coat — but 
oh ! my boy 1 to think I’ve got you again ! ” And the 
couple passed on, followed by the sympathetic mur- 
murs of the crowd. 

“Well now, what d’you think of that for a senti- 
mental episode ? Sort of thing one reads of but doesn’t 
believe in, eh? Dear me,” and the doctor took off his 


DR. JEREMIAH AT HOME. 


119 


spectacles for no apparent reason, and polished them 
carefully on his silk handkerchief — “ you didn’t see 
the meeting between them, did you? The women 
were crying all round me, and they’ve made my 
spectacles quite dull.” 

Then, passing his arm through the other’s, “ Come 
along,” he said, “ you’ve had quite enough of this. 
Now, look here, what are you going to do with your- 
self this evening? ” Ted said he didn’t know. 

“ Of course you don’t — but I do. Look here, you 
come round and see me. Better than moping there 
all alone. Come and spend the evening with me. You 
know where I live? No? Well, anyone can tell you 
that. They all know where Dr. Jerry — as they call 
me — lives — confound ’em ! What with people being 
born that aren’t wanted, and people that won’t die 
when they ought, I’ve enough to do, I can tell you. 
However, I shall have an hour or so to spare this 
evening. So just you come round, and we’ll keep each 
other company. By-the-by, any particular objection 
to a boiled fowl and sausages ? No? That’s all right 
— because I thought I heard my housekeeper make an 
allusion to something of the sort, with regard to 
supper. Well, good-bye. - I must be off — got a lot of 
sick people to look after. Don’t forget to look out for 
the name on the brass plate I ” 

He had no difficulty in finding out the house from 
the instructions given him by Mrs. Jinman, who 
received the information that her lodger was going to 
spend the evening at the doctor’s with lively interest. 

“ So you’re a-goin’ to Dr. Jerry’s, are you, sir, and 
won’t require no supper? Ah, now, that’s a nice 
gentleman, and kind ’arted, for all ’e speaks a bit 
sharp at times. But ’e’s all bark and no bite, is the 
doctor, and I ought to know, seein’ ’e attended three 


120 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


out o’ my seven in their last illnesses. There ain’t 
nobody like ’im, to my mind. Why, the very sight of 
’is spectacles a-comin’ down the street does more good 
to my rheumatiz than a bottle o’ anybody else’s 
mixture.” 

The doctor’s house wa3, like himself, a cheerful, 
dapper little building, with everything about it, from 
the window panes to the door handle, in a high state 
of polish. The gilt letters of the wire blinds in the 
surgery seemed to wink at the spectator, and the 
brass plate, which bore his name, was a triumph in 
itself. 

The door was opened to him by an elderly woman- 
servant, who, as Ted thought, seemed to regard him 
with a certain amount of suspicion. Howbeit, she 
bade him enter, and “troubled” him to walk into a 
room on the right, where he would find the doctor. 

The room, however, in which he found himself 
happened to be empty, but, from an inner one, a voice 
hailed him. 

“ Hullo ! — that you? That’s right — be with you in 
a minute. Just wait until I’ve finished poisoning off 
the parish.” And, through the half open door came 
the clink of glass and the sound of liquids being 
poured from one receptacle to another. 

Then the voice was heard addressing someone else 
who was invisible. 

“ Now then, Polly Wiggins, here’s the box of pills 
for your mother, and tell her not to give any to the 
baby to suck, because she’ll find they won’t agree 
with him. And here’s the bottle of liniment for your 
father’s leg, which is not to be taken internally, or 
there’ll be a funeral starting from your house shortly. 
That’s right — now be off, there’s a penny to make 
yourself ill with, and the next time I catch you throw- 


DR. JEREMIAH AT HOME. 


121 


ing stones at my fowls I’ll give you a tablespoonful of 
castor oil to make you remember it.” 

There were sounds of departing footsteps and the 
closing of a door, and the next moment Dr. Cart- 
wright emerged from his sanctum, and greeted him 
with great cordiality. 

“ So you’ve come — thought you would. Glad to see 
you. Make yourself at home, and take the chair you 
like the look of best. Now,” he continued, as he 
seated himself, “ if any man, woman, or child comes 
ringing that surgery bell, I’ll twist their necks ! ” 
After giving expression to which sanguinary remark, 
he beamed amiably upon his visitor and inquired 
whether he smoked. 

Well, yes, he did, the young man confessed. 

“Bad habit — very,” said the doctor, frowning at 
him severely. Then producing a cigar case, with an 
instantaneous action which resembled sleight of hand, 
“but so do I. And what do you think of my little 
place,” was the next inquiry, accompanied by a com- 
prehensive sweep of the hand. “Pretty snug, eh? 
Not bad quarters for a bachelor? ” 

His visitor expressed approval of his surroundings ; 
which certainly were well worthy of the appellation 
“ snug ” bestowed upon them by their owner. At the 
same time, there was an air of compactness, of severe 
attention to detail, which was suggestive of the fact 
that the present occupant had, at one time or other, 
been restricted in the matter of elbow room. 

“ Yes, I’m pretty comfortable,” the doctor went on. 
“ I’ve got a very good housekeeper, on the whole. Her 
chief fault is that she’s so confoundedly suspicious ! ” 

“Suspicious!” re-echoed the other. “Well, I 
thought she looked at me rather strangely when she 
let me in.” 


122 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


The little doctor chuckled, and showed symptoms of 
great inward enjoyment. “Ah! you thought so, did 
you ? The fact is, she’s in mortal terror of my getting 
married ! ” 

“ Well, but that needn’t make her suspicious of me!" 

“ My dear fellow, she’s suspicious of everybody, and 
I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she’s listening at the 
keyhole at this present moment. She’s jealous of every 
woman, single or married; because the single ones, 
being single, are open to offers ; while the married ones 
are liable to lose their husbands at a moment’s notice, 
and, as widows, would be more to be feared than the 
others. 

“ But I belong to neither category ! ” said the young 
man. “ Surely ’ ’ 

“ My dear boy,” cut in the other, “ as a young man 
you are likely to possess female relatives — a sister, or 
a cousin, or an aunt, either of whom might eventually 
prove dangerous to my peace of mind.” 

Ted Burritt actually laughed, to the little man’s 
great satisfaction, as the idea presented itself to him 
of his sister May as a possible aspirant to the position 
of Mrs. Jeremiah Cartwright. In less than a moment, 
however, the laugh had died away, and a corresponding 
expression of despondency settled down upon his 
features. 

“ He’s thinking of that inquest to-morrow,” thought 
the doctor, “ and his father’s body lying in the vestry. 
I must get him out of that groove again. Here ” 
— starting to his feet — “ come and have a walk round 
my premises before it gets dark 1 ” 

He took him out through the surgery, and showed 
him a neat little domain, which was divided into 
portions, in which grew, respectively, flowers, fruit and 
vegetables. At the bottom was a fowl run and a very 


DR. JEREMIAH AT HOME. 


123 


small circular pond, about the size of an ordinary wash- 
hand basin, in which paddled a solitary duck, who, as 
soon as he caught sight of the doctor, forsook his 
favourite element, and came waddling towards him, 
quacking loudly. 

“ He seems to know you,” said Ted. 

“ Know me? Of course he does ! ” was the reply. 
“ Didn’t I buy him of a drunken old Irishwoman, and 
mend his broken leg for him ? And do you think he’s 
going to forget that, though he is only a duck? ” 

“ I suppose, however, he’ll meet with the usual fate 

some day? He’ll be killed and eaten with ? ” 

“ Eaten ! ” exclaimed the doctor, with horror. 
“ What, eat iEsculapius ? Never ! ” 

“ iEsculapius ! ” was the surprised rejoinder. “Is 
that what you call him ? ” 

“Well, you see,” said the doctor, rubbing his hair 
the wrong way, “ iEsculapius was a quack — or, at any- 
rate, he’d have been considered one in these days — and 
I really thought, on the whole, it was a very good name 
for a duck.” 

They remained pacing up and down the garden paths 
— Esculapius waddling after them at a respectful dis- 
tance — until it was quite dusk ; the doctor persistently 
conversing on cheerful subjects, and refusing to allow 
the conversation to take a morbid turn. 

At nine o’clock supper was served, consisting of the 
boiled fowl and sausages previously referred to. 

“ You’ll take a leg and a wing and a bit of the 
breast?” said the hospitable little man, as he piled his 
visitor’s plate. “ You’ve got a trying day before you 

to-morrow, and ” Here he saw he had made the 

very remark he had been taking so much pains to avoid.- 
“ Talking of legs,” he continued, picking himself up 
very quickly, “reminds me of a very curious experience 


124 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


of mine. There was a man of these parts who, some 
years ago, was haunted by the ghost of his own leg ! 
Fact, I assure you ! He met with an accident which 
caused a very bad fracture, and the limb had to be 
amputated. I took it off myself, just above the knee,” 
he went on, performing a sort of pass in the air with the 
carving knife, “ and he was going on very well. All at 
once he took it into his head that the leg, which I had 
buried myself in his own back garden, began to haunt 
him. He said it used to come every night and stand 
opposite to him and stare at him — rather a peculiar 
expression to make use of under the circumstances — 
but let that pass. I tried to reason with him about the 
matter. Asked him how he knew it was his own leg, 
and not someone else’s got loose ? But it was no good. 
He said he ought to know his own leg by sight if any- 
body did, and, anyhow, it had got on one of his socks, 
and there was a bunion on the great toe he could swear 
to. He said, too, that it used to knock the things about 
and stamp round the room, when he wanted to go to 
sleep, and it was no good locking the door, for 
it used to kick it open and walk in. He said 
its behaviour at times was positively shameful, and 
he wasn’t going to be bullied in that way by his 
own cast-off limb. So what does he do?” concluded 
the doctor, as he helped himself to mashed potatoes, 
“ but hang himself to the bed-post, leaving a note to 
the effect that he had borne it as long as he could, but 
when it came to dancing round the room with the 
fire-irons, in the dead of night, it was more than he 
could stand.” 

“ I suppose that’s a perfectly true story?” was the 
oomment on this. 

■ ‘ True I ” said the doctor ; “ if it isn’t, it ought to be.” 


CHAPTEB XIV. 


THE OTHER PASSENGER. 


HE inquiry into the death of Mr. Silas Burritt 



J- was held at the “ Wheatsheaf,” in the long, 
low room usually dedicated to the flowing bowl and 
the promotion of social intercourse. 

The scene of yesterday’s investigations had resumed 
its classic character, and once more re-echoed with the 
strains of the multiplication table and “ How doth the 
little busy bee? ” 

The same routine having been observed as on that 
previous occasion, Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright was called 
to prove the finding of the body — its position, appear 
ance, and subsequent removal to the vestry of the old 
church, and his examination of the remains — resulting 
in the discovery of a wound, with two orifices, showing' 
that the bullet which had caused it had traversed the 
head completely. 

Other scientific evidence followed, which is sup- 
pressed. 

Mr. Edward Burritt was then called, and went 
through the form of identifying the deceased as his 
father, Mr. Silas Burritt, merchant, of Timber Lane, 
City, aged 50. He entirely negatived the theory of 
self-destruction, stating that his father, to his certain 
knowledge, had not only never possessed anything in 
the shape of firearms, but had always been remarkable 
for an unusual amount of nervousness, almost amount- 
ing to horror, with regard to anything of the kind, in 
consequence of an accident, with a tragical termination, 


126 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


which he had once witnessed. Dr. Jeremiah Cart- 
wright, recalled at this juncture, here stated his firm 
conviction that the wound had not been self-inflicted, 
which he proceeded to prove, to his own satisfaction 
and the entire bewilderment of everybody else present, 
by the aid of a great many polysyllabic expressions 
and a torrent of professional phraseology, which swept 
everyone off their feet, but which, on being filtered 
down, for the benefit of the unlearned, merely amounted 
to the following facts, viz. : that the edges of the 
wound, by which the bullet had made its entrance, 
were torn and lacerated, as well as blackened and 
burnt by the action of the gunpowder, that the skin 
in the vicinity of the wound was blistered ; the bleed- 
ing slight, and chiefly from the orifice of exit, and the 
two openings in the scalp nearly opposite each other. 
As the result of this investigation, Dr. Cartwright felt 
himself in a position to state unhesitatingly that the 
muzzle of the weapon with which the deed had been 
committed had been placed in immediate contact 
with the left temple of the deceased. 

The next thing he undertook to prove was the finding 
of the bullet, which he thereupon produced and laid on 
the table before him. He described the position in 
which it had lodged, and compared it with the attitude 
of the deceased and the position of his head as it had 
rested against the stuffing of the compartment. 

The bullet, he stated, was, as everyone could see for 
themselves, a bullet from a rev6lver, and a revolver, 
therefore, was the weapon they had to look for. 

At this point, there was a general craning of necks 
to catch sight of the said bullet, which was handed 
round to the jurymen, who examined it closely, smelt 
it, and, in some instances, tested it with the end of 
their tongue, winding up by generally shaking their 


THE OTHER PASSENGER. 


127 


heads oyer it, with the air of men who could say a 
great deal on the subject were they minded to do so, 
but, under the circumstances, would refrain. 

Then, one of them, a pork-butcher by trade, desirous 
of distinguishing himself in the eyes of his fellows, said 
he would like to ask a question. Was informed he 
might do so, and thereupon inquired whether it was 
not possible that “ the — whatd’yercallit might not have 
gone off accidentally? ” 

Dr. Cartwright took upon himself to reply that, “ if 
an individual began by placing the muzzle of a revolver 
in close juxtaposition to another person’s brains, what- 
ever accident occurred, must be looked upon as pre- 
meditated.” 

The pork-butcher thanked him, but, at the same 
time, expressed a wish that the doctor would remember 
that they were not all members of his own profession, 
and would not use so many medical words. He “ meant 
no offence, and hoped none would be took, but them 
long Latin words, after all, didn’t mean no more than 
plain English.” 

The doctor, with a face of preternatural gravity, pro- 
mised to bear this in mind, and was about to proceed, 
when another juryman, between whom and the pork- 
butcher there existed a species of rivalry, anxious that 
the latter should not have it all his own way, started 
up, and said that the doctor had just told them that 
the muzzle of the revolver had been placed against the 
left temple of the deceased, and he wanted to know if 
it had been placed against the right instead, whether 

the consequences would have been the same or ? 

But here, catching the full glare of the doctor’s 
spectacles turned upon him, he subsided into silence, 
vaguely conscious that, in some way or other, he had 
not advanced himself materially in the opinion of those 


128 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

present, and that the pork -butcher was regarding him 
with derision. 

Dr. Cartwright, after waiting a moment to see if any- 
one else would be bold enough to interrupt again, now 
went on to say that it was generally allowed that if a 
man shot himself, the weapon with which he com- 
mitted the act was to be found within a certain radius. 
But there was nothing of the kind to be discovered in 
the railway carriage in which the deceased was found, 
for he had had it searched, as well as searched it most 
carefully himself. Now, he maintained, and he thought 
that no one present would venture to disagree with 
him (here he paused and glared at the unfortunate 
juryman who had been responsible for the second in- 
terruption), that a man who had just shot himself 
through the head would, unless he retained the weapon 
in his death grasp, let it fall, so that it would be found 
close at hand, and he repeated his former statement 
that he had searched the carriage himself and found 
nothing. Dr. Cartwright, having brought his evidence 
to a conclusion, now gave place to another witness, and 
one in whose power it might be to help to unravel the 
mystery. This last was the guard of the 4-30 train — 
an intelligent looking man, who, with a bandage round 
his head and one arm in a sling, bore tokens of the 
injuries he had received in jumping from the train 
while it was in motion. 

On being questioned as to what he knew of the 
matter, he replied, without any hesitation, that he 
remembered the fourth carriage from the engine well, 
and the passengers that it contained in that particular 
compartment. 

There was a slight sensation at this remark. 

“Now then, young man, keep cool!” said the 
doctor to Ted, as he half started to his feet and 


THE OTHER PASSENGER. 


129 


betrayed other symptoms of great excitement. “ Wait 
and hear what he’s got to say on the subject.” 

The examination of the guard was continued. “ Was 
he sure that there was more than one passenger in 
that compartment of. the carriage referred to?” 

Sure and certain he was. “ There was two of them. 
He could swear to it. Didn’t one of them, the taller 
of the two, tip him handsome to lock them in so that 
they might have the carriage to themselves for the 
journey ? ” 

“ And you did lock them in, and are quite sure that 
they were both together in the carriage when the train 
started ? ” 

“ Certain sure he was. He see them both together 
in the compartment as the train passed him, just 
before he swung himself into his van.” 

Being asked whether there was anything about either 
of them that helped to fix his attention upon them, he 
answered that “ the taller and thinner of the two — 
though they were both of them tall and well-growed — 
seemed uncommon pertickler about picking out a car- 
riage to his mind. He noticed him looking into several 
before he fixed upon that identical compartment ; and 
when he had, he beckons to him (the guard) and 
says, * Look here ! ’ he says, * me and my friend, we 
don’t want nobody else getting in here. We want this 
here carriage to ourselves till we get to London. Take 
this,’ he says, ‘ and don’t you let nobody else in what- 
ever.’ So I says, ‘ All right, sir,’ and locks the door, 
and thinks to myself, * anybody would think as it was 
a couple of honeymooners instead of two elderly 
gents.’ ” 

“ Had the other gentleman,” he was asked, “ shown 
any particular anxiety in the matter?” “No,” was 
the answer; “he hadn’t seemed to take any pertickler 

9 


130 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


notice. He just stood by quiet, and when the other 
said, ‘ This one will do,’ got in and settled himself in 
the corner.” 

Here there was a little discussion as to which par- 
ticular corner he meant. But after a little argument 
between the guard and the coroner and Dr. Jeremiah, 
it was settled that the corner in which the gentleman 
had settled himself was the right-hand corner of the 
carriage, next to the platform; which was the same' 
corner in which the body was subsequently found. The 
other gentleman, the one who took all the arrange- 
ments upon himself, seated himself opposite. 

“ Could he describe the other gentleman? ” 

Well, beyond noticing that he was tall and elderly, 
with grey hair and moustache, and a sort of dried-up, 
leathery look about him, it didn’t seem as though he 
could ; but he remembered thinking that he had some- 
thing of a foreign appearance — though when he said a 
foreign appearance, he didn’t wish it to be thought that 
he meant the same as a foreigner, but the sort of look 
of a man who’d been abroad for a great many years. 
Bless you, he was accustomed to keep his eyes open 
and notice what went on round him. All sorts of 
people travelled by his train, and he could generally 
pick out anyone who was just home from abroad or 
the Continong, by a sort of looseness about the collar 
and a way of looking about him. 

“ Could he identify the body of the gentleman who 
had been shot as the companion of the other? ” 

He both could and would; except that there had 
been a sort of a smile on his face then and he looked 
very different now. In fact, he had struck him (the 
guard) — in spite of the tip which the other party gave 
him — as being by far the agreeabler and most pleasant- 
spoken gentleman of the two ; and he had been most 


THE OTHER PASSENGER. 


131 


uncommon sorry, that he had, on recognizing the body, 
because, you see, he had quite made up his mind that 
he had escaped as well as the other one. 

Being asked to explain himself, said he didn’t see 
much what there was to explain. What he meant 
was that he thought that if one gent got off scot free, 
the other might have done the same. 

“ What did he mean by the other having got off scot 
free, and what was his authority for speaking ashe did? ” 

Why, it was simple enough. You see, it was like 
this. Being in the rear of the train, he was conscious of 
nothing until he found himself thrown violently on the 
floor. Recovering himself, he jumped from his van 
and alighted on his feet, but was struck by a fragment 
of something and knocked down. He rose to his feet 
again, though suffering from wounds in the head, 
hand and knee, and saw a sight the like of which he had 
never seen before. With his keys in his hand, he ran 
up and down the line, hardly knowing what he was 
doing. As soon as he began to get his senses back, 
which had been pretty well knocked out of him, he un- 
locked all the doors of the carriages that he came to, 
though they were already unlocked on one side. After 
he had done all he could, he went and sat down by the 
side of the line, for he began to turn faint and dizzy. 
While he sat there he saw a tall, rather thin, elderly 
gentleman making his way slowly towards him, who 
limped a little as he walked. As this latter came 
nearer, he recognized him as being the same individual 
who had given him the tip, and told him to keep any- 
one else from getting into the carriage. 

Witness noticed that his face was ghastly, and that 
he breathed like a man who had been running a race, 
but naturally put it down to the terrible shock and the 
fright caused by the accident. As he came up to him, 

9—3 


132 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


he (the guard) spoke to him and said, “ Glad to see 
you’re safe, sir! hope the other gent is the same?” 
But he only stared at him in a queer dazed sort of way, 
without making any answer, and passed on down the 
line. 

There was another slight commotion while the guard 
was relating these last few sentences, and Dr. Cart- 
wright’s voice was heard again adjuring someone to 
“ keep cool ! keep cool ! ” 

The coroner asked whether this was all he had to say. 

To which the witness replied that “ as far as it con- 
cerned the two passengers in the first compartment of 
the fourth carriage from the engine, which it was a first 
class carriage, it was.” 

The coroner was about to tell him to “ stand down,” 
when Dr. Cartwright desired to put a further question. 

“ Did you,” he asked, “ hear anything of the nature 
of a report, like that of a pistol, at any time, either 
before or after the catastrophe? ” 

The guard shook his head and said he couldn’t 
recall having noticed anything of the sort, and wasn’t 
likely to with petroleum barrels exploding all round, 
and the boiler of the engine expected to do the same 
any minute ; and before that, what with the rattle of 
the train and his van being the last 

“ That’ll do,” said the doctor ; then, as he turned to 
the young man beside him, “ I don’t think there’ll be 
much doubt as to the verdict in this case.” 

The pork-butcher, however, was here suddenly 
seized with conscientious scruples. It seemed to him, 
he said, that, even if the deceased had not been shot, 
he might have met with his death all the same. He 
thought due allowance should be made for this and an 
open verdict returned. He said, “put it this way — 
supposing he hadn’t been murdered, he’d most pro- 


THE OTHER PASSENGER. 


133 


bably have been killed in the railway accident, and, if 
there hadn’t been a railway accident, he might have 
been shot all the same, and ” 

Here he was interrupted by the coroner and told to 
sit down, whereat the rival juryman made an attempt 
to exclaim, “ Hear ! hear ! ” but was frowned down. 

At last, after some debate and a persistent but un- 
successful attempt to argue the matter out on the part 
of the pork-butcher, the verdict agreed upon was : 

“ Wilful murder against some person or persons un- 
known.” 

The coroner added a remark to the effect that the 
police would, probably, be able to follow the matter up 
and the inquiry was concluded. 

Ted Burritt and his friend the doctor left the place 
together. 

“What will be your next step in the matter?” 
asked the latter. 

“First, to take my father’s body home — then to 
look for his murderer I ” 


CHAPTER XV. 


COMING HOME. 

E ARLY in the evening of the same day, Dr. Jere- 
miah was bidding his new friend “good-bye” 
as he saw him off from the station. 

“ Now,” he said, shaking hands with him for the 
third or fourth time, “ be sure and remember my advice 
and keep cool, and mind you let me know whatever 
you resolve to do in the matter. Bless me! I can 
hardly believe I only saw you first three days ago. 
Seems as though I had known you and vaccinated you 
as a baby. I hope you’ll find them all well at home. 
Be sure you remember me kindly to them. Say they 
may command my services — Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright’s 
services, late of the 47th. I suppose you’ll have the 
funeral as soon as possible ? The undertaker’s people 
will meet you at London Bridge and take all the 
trouble off your hands. Good-bye” — shaking hands 
again. “ Train’s just off, I see. Now, mind you 
write, and don’t get doing anything rash. Good-bye 
— and, above all things, keep cool.” 

The train puffed slowly out of the station ; and the 
last view Ted had of the little man, showed him stand- 
ing at the end of the platform and waving his spectacles 
after him. He gave him a parting salute out of the 
window of the carriage, and then drew in his head, sank 
back into his seat with a sigh and began to review the 
events of the last few days. 

“ Wilful murder against some person or persons 
unknown 1 ” 


COMING HOME. 


135 


And lie had to break this, as well as all that went 
before it, to those two women at home. A gruesome task! 

Well, so much the worse for the man who had been 
the cause of it all. So much the worse for him when 
the day came for reckoning up accounts ; the day that 
would see him in the criminals’ dock ; the day that 
would place a noose round his neck. And the young 
man felt that that would be a day well worth wait- 
ing for ; even though it might be indefinitely prolonged. 

But he would never rest, and never give up until he 
had helped to bring it about ; for it seemed to him 
that revenge would be incomplete, and robbed of half 
its sweetness, unless it were his foot that helped to 
dog the murderer and his hand that helped to hurry 
him to a felon’s doom. Oh, yes, he must be an agent, if 
not the chief, at anyrate an important one. He must 
bear his full share in the honourable, and perhaps ardu- 
ous, task of bringing his father’s murderer to justice. 

It was all very well for the doctor to advise him to 
keep cool, and talk about the advisability of doing 
nothing rash. He knew nothing at all about it, 
except from a professional point of view. But, for all 
that, he should never forget the extraordinary kind- 
ness, and the invaluable assistance he had met with at 
his hands ; and if ever the time came that he could in 
any way repay him, he should not hesitate to do so, 
in whatever coin he might require. It was he (the 
doctor) who had smoothed all the difficulties out 
of his way, who had secured for him the possession 
of whatever papers or belongings had been found 
upon the person of the dead man ; and, in an inner 
and safe pocket, he also carried the ball from the 
revolver, which that same indefatigable individual had 
discovered and brought to light, and which the other 
felt might in some way be a clue to the sad and 


136 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


terrible mystery. He hoped, too, among the letters 
and papers — contained in a sealed packet, which he 
also carried about his person — to come upon something 
which might help to set his feet in the right track ; for 
he could not disguise from himself the fact that, to 
trace a man, of whose very name he was ignorant and 
who might be said to have vanished into space after 
that hour in which he had been last seen walking 
along the line, was a task, the difficulty and intricacy of 
which would only increase with the progress of each day. 

Then the thought struck him, if he could find that 
letter I The one that came less than a week ago ! If 
it had not been destroyed 1 And why should it have 
been? Unless — and he recalled that, at the time, dis- 
tasteful allusion of Dr. Cartwright’s — unless there were 
something compromising in it ! 

But he rejected the idea now, as he had then. No 
doubt he would be able to find the letter. Had not 
his father always been remarkable for his habit of 
hoarding up everything in the shape of a written com- 
munication, even of the most trifling and unimportant 
description ? Did not every drawer in his writing table 
bear witness to the fact ? Oh, yes, he wouldfind it ! 
It was most probable that it was included among those 
other papers which were even now in his possession. 

He put his hand to his breast pocket and half with- 
drew the packet. Should he examine it now, without 
longer delay? He had ample time. But no, there 
was nothing to be gained by such haste. Let him 
wait a little longer — only a little longer, until the duty 
which was paramount had been accomplished, and one 
more grave had been opened and filled. 

Meanwhile, at Magnolia Lodge, the days had dragged 
heavily along. Mrs. Burritt having once taken to her 
bed (a recumbent position being looked upon by her 


COMING HOME. 


137 


as the most proper and becoming one in which to 
encounter affliction) immediately upon receipt of the 
sad tidings, had not since sufficiently recovered herself 
to leave it again. “ Grief,” she said, “ always had a 
peculiar effect upon her spine, and she didn’t know 
whether it was the blinds being down, or the' sight of 
her widow’s cap, but she couldn’t help feeling that she 
was .not long for this world. Anyhow, they must not 
grieve, but be sure and bury her by the side of their 
dear father.” All this could scarcely be said to add to 
her daughter’s spirits, only, there was so much to be 
done, that she had, fortunately, little time in which to 
indulge in morbid reflections on her own behalf. There 
were letters to be written, dressmakers to be inter- 
viewed, and a host of other things, which must be done 
whether the house be one of joy or mourning. 

It was about half past seven on Tuesday evening 
when she heard the sound of wheels. She hastened 
into the hall and met her brother. The first glance 
showed her the alteration that had taken place in him. 
He looked very worn and full of trouble, much older, 
and, she thought, much sterner. She had been in the 
habit of regarding him as a boy — was he not barely 
three years her senior ? — now he looked a man, every 
inch of him. A hasty greeting passed between them, 
and then she went to prepare her mother for his arrival. 

Mrs. Burritt was dozing, and her daughter hesitated 
for a moment before rousing her. As she stood, wait- 
ing, she heard heavy footsteps ascending the staircase 
— footsteps of men, who were carrying something of 
great weight. She knew what it was. They came on 
slowly past the door of the room in which she was. 
Then, after a short time, she heard them descending 
the stairs again ; the door of the house was closed, and 
at the same moment her mother woke. 


138 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 

“ May, my dear,” slie said, “ I dreamt your father had 
come home. I made sure I heard his footstep coming 
up the stairs. But it was only a dream,” she sighed. 

On being told of her son’s return, she at first decided 
that she would get up ; but the thought of the exertion 
proved too much for her. 

“ If you’ll give me my cap and a little eau de Cologne 
on my handkerchief, and ask him^ to come up, I tihink 
that’s all I’m equal to.” 

“ I’ve brought him home, mother,” was the first 
thing he said, after he had been kissed and cried over. 

“ Yes, my dear,” she answered ; “ you said you 
would, and I never doubted it. Even when you were 
quite a boy you were always remarkable for keeping 
your word. But it’s a sad, sad home-coming ! ” And 
here the poor lady gave way and wept abundantly. 

Her son consoled her to the best of his ability, won- 
dering all the time how she would take it when she 
came to know the truth — the truth, which must come 
out sooner or later. 

“I suppose they’ve — they’ve taken him upstairs?” 
she inquired, when she was a little more composed. 
“ I gave orders for the best spare bedroom to be got 
ready for him, and I’ve had a fire lighted and every- 
thing well aired. I know some people would say it 
wasn’t necessary, but I’m not going to have him put 
in a damp room for all that. I was always most par- 
ticular about it when he was alive, and I’m not going 
to be any less careful now. ‘ Love, honour and obey ’ 
it says in the marriage service, and I’ve always added 
to that, in my own mind, * and see that his things are 
well aired ! ’” 

Here Mrs. Burritt sank back on her pillow, and 
* requested her son to give her a tea-spoonful of the red 
mixture out of the bottle at the right hand corner of 


COMING HOME. 


139 


the mantel-piece, in a wine glass of water, and tell cook 
she would take another cup of beef tea later on.” 

The presence of the dead is always a subject more or 
less of superstitious fear to the less educated classes ; 
consequently Ted was hardly surprised when he 
observed a decided disposition on the part of the 
domestic staff to avoid, as much as possible, the upper 
portion of the house, or to find the women-servants 
going about in close companionship, with a strong in- 
clination to take to their heels on the slightest excuse. 
But he was surprised to find himself giving way to a 
feeling of nervousness — of anticipation, when he was 
alone in his own room (which was situated next to the 
one in which his father lay in his coffin) that night. 

Suppose, he found himself wondering, that he were 
to wake suddenly, in the middle of the night, and fancy 
he heard a movement in that next room ! Or suppose 
he should see a figure standing by the bedside, with 
one arm raised and pointing to a deep wound in the 
temple from which the blood slowly oozed ! 

He had a good mind not to go to bed at all, but to 
sit up and read — read something humorous. He sneered 
at his own cowardice. What on earth made him feel 
like this ? He had not been afraid of his father living, 
why should he fear him dead ? — dead and lying in his 
coffin, with the lid screwed down and the door locked? 

He turned up the gas and chose a volume, “ The 
Innocents Abroad,” from the small bookcase which con- 
tained his favourite authors, and sat down with the inten- 
tion of concentrating his attention upon its pages, and 
resolutely shutting out all superstitious and unwhole- 
some imaginations. 

After a very short time he was surprised to find him- 
self actually growing sleepy. He would shut up the 
book and go to bed. He had had a great deal to knock 


140 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


him up that day. There had been the inquest to start 
with, the superintendence of the removal of the body, 
the journey home, and all the associations connected 
with his return. He had still put off the revelation of 
the murder. To-morrow would be soon enough for 
that. It was not a story to tell at night. Wait until 
morning — until, in fact, it could be put off no longer. 

A prodigious yawn followed, and he nearly dropped 
his book. 

The next moment a sound of something heavy fall- 
ing brought him broad awake with the sensation of a 
cold wind passing through his hair. 

What was it? Was it in this room or the next? 

The sound continued — a sort of rumbling, rolling 
sound which brought the perspiration out upon his 
forehead. 

The next moment he gave a short, harsh laugh, as 
he saw that the bullet from the revolver, which he had 
placed upon the bureau, had fallen from thence to the 
ground, where it had rolled some way. 

He picked it up and deposited it in a drawer, which 
he locked for greater security. 

“ I don’t want to be disturbed that way again,” he 
said to himself. “ My nerves must be awfully shaken 
to let such a trifle as that knock me over in the way it 
did. I wonder whether it will be any good going to bed 
after this ? It is no use trying to read any more.” 

After turning about uneasily for some time, he fell 
into a troubled sleep. There was not a sound or move- 
ment of any sort in the house, and he had slept on for 
about two hours when, all at once, without any warning, 
he woke. What had roused him? The same voice which 
he had heard once before in the very early morning. 

11 Ted!” It seemed to have come to him through 
the dividing wall. And this time, as before, he 


COMING HOME. 


141 


answered back without thinking — his senses still half 
under the influence of slumber — 

“ Yes, father ; what is it ? ” 

And the same voice, whether it was only in his own 
brain, or came from some unknown source, answered 
him back again — 

“ Press the spring at the bach of the recess l ” 

“Ted,” said his sister, compassionately, at breakfast 
the next morning, “ how bad you look. Poor boy 1 
you have had so much to go through, and there was 
nobody to help you. I wish I had been a man, and 
yet — no, I could never have borne those dreadful sights. 
Tell me” — with a shudder — “how did father look? 
Do you really think he did not suffer much? Oh! I 
wish I could have seen him once more, just for one last 
look ! Dear old dad 1 ” 

“ Don’t you go on like that, May ; I can’t stand it. 
I’ve had a bad night— a very bad night, and there’s a 
lot to do to-day. What’s more, I’ve got to have a very 
serious talk with you presently.” 

“ What about ? ” — with some curiosity ; then, with a 
sigh, “ Oh ! I suppose you mean about the funeral? I 
thought we’d settled all that last night ? 

“ It isn’t that,” he replied, slowly. “ It’s something 
you ought to know— something you must know. But 
it’ll give you a shock. Now, don’t get turning pale 
already. And for goodness sake don’t faint, or do any- 
thing of that sort, for I’ve got enough on my hands 
already without that. That’s the worst of a girl,” he 
continued, with an attempt at his old superior manner , 
“they always begin to turn up their eyes and fall out 
of their chairs directly they see the least excuse. But 
come along. Let us go into the study. I can tell you 
best there.” 


CHAPTER XYI. 


AN EYE FOE AN EYE, 


HE room to which he referred was the one which 



_L had been his father’s private sanctum, and to 
which he had retired whenever he had had any business 
to transact, or wished to be alone for any particular 
reason. Consequently, it was full of memories to 
the two who now found themselves alone in it, and 
wherever they turned their eyes they lighted upon 
some token of his presence, or some silent witness of 
those habits which were inseparably connected with 
his name. 

The blind was drawn down, but the light penetrated 
sufficiently into the room to reveal its contents and 
the various objects, small and great, which it contained. 
The waste paper basket by the side of the writing 
table was full of the fragments which he had placed 
therein. His favourite chair, with its worn, leather 
seat, remained just as it had been left when its late 
occupier had risen and pushed it back. On the table, 
as though it had just been referred to, lay an open 
“ Bradshaw.” A glance at its pages showed that the 
service of trains between London and Dover had been 
the subject under reference. 

No one had entered the room since the previous 
week, and a coating of dust lay on the furniture and 
other articles. 

A sheet of writing paper, with something written on 
it, lay upon the blotting pad, and the pen which he 
had last used lay beside it with the ink dried upon it. 


142 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


143 


Everything spoke of the dead. His spirit seemed to 
pervade the room, which he might only that moment 
have quitted. The position of the chair, the open 
book, and the sheet of paper with the pen beside it, 
were all indications of the recent presence, and, so 
strong was the impression thus conveyed, that it 
seemed to his son that, at any moment, the door 
might reopen and the well known figure appear upon 
the threshold. He turned his eyes away from that 
direction in which they seemed irresistibly drawn, and 
was conscious of a slight shiver, which seemed to run 
through him at the familiar, and, at the same time, 
ghostly presence he had conjured up. He must get 
quit of these foolish fancies, these nervous, super- 
stitious notions, to which he had given way more than 
once lately. 

The dead man lay in his coffin in the room above, 
and would lie there until the morrow. In the mean- 
while, let there be no more of this folly — this imagining 
of voices, this idea of a supernatural communication 
between them. 

Then his eye was caught by the sheet of paper lying 
upon the writing table, with something written upon it. 
What was it ? Only a few words, the beginning of a 
letter, destined never to be finished, and intended — 
for whom ? 

There was the date — April 23rd — the day before he 
left home, and beneath it : 

“My dear ” Not half a dozen words in all, 

and nothing to show to whom it was addressed or 
why it was left scarcely begun. 

If the blank paper could only speak ! If the pen 
which lay beside it could be made to carry out what 
the hand had failed to complete ! 

He turned to his sister, who had sunk upon a sofa 


144 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


by the half-darkened window, and was watching his 
movements and the play of his countenance with a 
gradually increasing sensation of heaviness about the 
region of the heart. 

What kept him silent so long? Why did he not 
speak, instead of gazing about him in that curiously 
absorbed fashion, as though he were trying to see 
through things? And what was it that made her 
hesitate and fear to put any of the questions that 
trembled upon her lips? What could it be about? 
this mysterious and, as she vaguely felt, awful com- 
munication which he had to make, and yet delayed 
making from one moment to another ? 

Their father was dead. It was a dreadful source of 
trouble, but could neither be lightened nor added to. 
He was dead. Nothing that could be said upon the 
subject could alter or do away with that fact. Per- 
haps — and her original belief returned to her — it was 
something to do with business. So long as there was 
business in the world there was also the possibility of 
misfortune. Perhaps her father’s death would make 
a great difference to them in other ways beyond the 
immediate sense of bereavement. Perhaps she would 
have to go out as a governess after all. “ Well,” she 
thought, with a dismal droop of the corners of her 
mouth, “it didn’t matter much now, nothing seemed as 
though it mattered much now. But, oh ! the scales 
and the geography and the use of the globes and the 
thick bread and butter and all the rest of the dreary 
routine. And all for twenty pounds a year — washing 
included I ” 

Poor May was miserably conscious that £20 a year 
was all that she could be considered worth in the 
educational mart. It might even be less ! — sixteen — 
or only twelve 1 She had seen advertisements in the 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


145 


paper before now, and had laughed at them, in which 
that modest sum had been offered in return for 
thorough instruction in English, French, music, draw- 
ing, as well as general domestic usefulness, which 
might be taken to include mending the stockings, 
washing the dog and hearing the children’s prayers. 
It was true that there was occasionally a comfortable 
liome thrown in. But then she had a fixed idea that 
“ a comfortable home,” as regarded the governess, too 
often meant the seat farthest from the fire, the dregs 
of the teapot, and a fortnight’s holiday twice a year. 

Twelve pounds a year ! why, it was a kitchen maid’s 
wages I To think that, after all, one wasn’t worth 
more than twelve pounds a year I 

She found herself planning how she could lay out 
her first quarter’s salary to the best advantage, so as 
to make it go the farthest. She had just arrived at 
the depressing conviction that, for the future, kid gloves 
would be an unwarrantable extravagance, and patent 

leather shoes a remnant of the past, when 

“ May,” said her brother, “ it’s no use putting things 
off, it only makes matters worse ; so, listen attentively 
to what I am going to tell you, and behave like the 
good little girl you can be.” 

It was ten minutes later and the room looked just the 
same, and yet there was a difference. The empty chair, 
the “ Bradshaw ” lying open upon the table, and even 
the waste-paper basket 'had become objects to be re- 
garded with bated breath and a sense of shuddering awe. 

Murdered 1 That dreadful word, which suggested 
such hideous possibilities to the mind of the hearer ! 

Shot ! And she seemed to hear the sharp report 
which accompanied the deed! And over and over 
again the questions presented themselves, and had to 
be asked and answered : 


10 


146 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Why ? Why was this ? and who had done it ? 

Still, the scene was not so bad as he had anticipated, 
and the young man breathed a sigh of relief as he felt 
that he had eased his mind of the greater part of its 
burden. 

She listened in silence and horror as he repeated the 
suspicions, which were now certainties, as far as he 
was concerned ; how they first sprang up in his mind ; 
how everything tended to their confirmation, until at 
the inquest they were proved correct beyond all doubt. 
“ And now, you see, May,” he concluded, “ what we 
have to do is to find the murderer ; to track him step 
by step, and then ” He paused significantly. 

“ But how are we to find him ? ” was the question. 

“ I don’t know how,” was the answer, given with 
dogged determination. “ I only know this, that I shall 
never rest until I have him at my mercy — until I can 
put my hand upon his shoulder and say, * You are my 
father’s murderer ! You basely slew him who never 
injured you, now is the Day of Retribution ! ’ ” 

“ And then ? ” in an awe-struck voice from his solitary 
listener. 

“ Then I — that depends,” was the grim reply. “ You 
know what the Bible says in ‘ the case of the slayer ? ’ ” 

She shook her head. 

“ Thine eye shall not pity; but life shall go for life, 
eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot !” 

“ Does it say that? ” she asked, fearfully. “I thought 
it was all about forgiving your enemies ? ” 

“ So it may be in the New Testament,” said the young 
man, with a gleam of vindictive triumph lighting up his 
face ; “ but I go by the Old, which says, ‘ Whosoever 
sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed ! ’ ” 

“But, perhaps” — and surely she did not say this 
hopefully — “ perhaps you will never find him 1 ” 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


147 


“ But I tell you I shall, sooner or later. 1 know it ! 

What is it they say ? — * Murder will out ! ’ And I 
believe it. Oh, I shall find him ! I am young, and 
can afford to wait, if necessary ; but I prophesy that 
before the year is out I shall be able to point to the 
man who did the deed. The crime has been discovered ; 
it now remains to discover the criminal. I wish,” he 
continued, fiercely, “ I could set the blood hounds on his 
track, and hunt him down, as they used to in America !” 

“ It’s dreadful to hear you talk ! It frightens me!” 
she murmured. 

“Frightens you, does it?” was the angry reply. 

“ Perhaps you would like to sit quietly down and do 
nothing? ” 

“No, no,” she hastened to answer. “ But I thought 
the police ” 

“ Just listen to her ! ” was the scornful interruption. 

“ The police ! Leave it to them, indeed ! What do 
they care ? Of course, I shall offer a large reward, and 
let them do their best in the matter. But do you think 
I am going to sit tamely by while they are running 
their heads against a brick wall ? No ; I know what I 
shall do. I have thought of a plan, and I believe I 
know the man to go to — someone I’ve heard of, and 
who will help to put me on the right track.” 

He glanced round the room. “ Don’t let anything 
be touched. I shall have to make a thorough examina- 
tion of all the papers and other effects; and until 
that is done, no one must enter the room or alter the 
position of a single thing — or I think I shall lock the 
door and take away the key. And now, there is still 
a lot to be done. We had better go now, and talk of 
the matter again after the funeral.” • 

They turned to leave the room together. He gave 
another last look round before closing the door. “ I 

10—2 


148 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


can almost fancy him sitting in that chair,” he muttered 
to him self. “ I wonder what was meant by ‘ the spring 
at the back of the recess ’ ! — and whether I really heard 

it, or only ?” He closed and locked the door. “I 

wonder what Dr. Jeremiah would have to say about 
it ? And whether his professional, or private, opinion 
would be the one worth having ? ” 

Then, turning to his sister, as he put the key in his 
pocket, “ You will have to break this to mother.” 

“ Oh, must I ! How dreadful ! — couldn’t you? ” 

“ Of course not,” hastily. “ It’s your place to do so, 
and I couldn’t think of taking it upon myself. And I 
should say the sooner the better, for it’s sure to get 
into the papers, and someone might blurt it out un- 
awares and frighten her to death.” 

“ Very well,” she answered, meekly, “ if I must, I 
must?; but I’ll wait until she’s had her beeftea.” 
How she did it finally, she never knew ; but, somehow, 
the words were spoken, and the dreadful truth revealed. 

Mrs. Burritt, partly to her daughter’s relief, seemed 
hardly capable of realizing it. “ Ah, those railway 
companies ! What they have to answer for ! It’s all 
their fault. But for them your father would be alive 
and hearty now. What’s that you keep saying about 
his being murdered? Of course — isn’t that what I 
said all along ? His death lies at their door, and trans- 
portation for life is the very least they deserve. Shot 
through the head, did you say ? And you are sure it 
had nothing to do with the railway company ? How 
can you know — a child like you? — it was only the 
other day I was letting down a tuck in your frock ! 
And who else could it have been ? It’s no use your 
trying to prove that he wasn’t killed in the accident. 
That won’t bring your dear father to life again — and 
I’m sure a better one no girl ever had. I know you 


AN EYE FOR AN EYE. 


149 


mean well, my dear, but nothing you can say or do 
can alter the case. If he hadn’t been in that train he’d 
have been alive now — you can’t deny that. I suppose 
none of the other people were shot who were killed at 
the same time ? And is it likely they’d pick out your 
father? No, my dear, I feel convinced that he perished 
in that terrible accident, and it’s no good the railway 
company trying to put the blame on anyone else. He’s 
dead! — -dead!” she cried hysterically. “It doesn’t 
make any difference to me how he died. If it had only 
been an illness, that I could have nursed him through, 
I should not have minded so much. But I wasn’t 
there — and they won’t let me see him — and now you 
come telling me that he wasn’t killed in the railway 
accident after all — as though that would be any com- 
fort to me ! What does it matter so long as he is dead 
— dead — dead ? ” 

The next was the day of the funeral. 

It was numerously attended, either out of respect or 
curiosity, and, as he reviewed the troops of friends and 
acquaintances that assembled round the grave, the son 
of the dead man wondered, for an instant, whether it 
were possible for that one false friend to be among 
them? 

But the idea was rejected as soon as formed. He 
looked in vain for one who corresponded with the de- 
scription of the tall, thin, elderly man, with a dried-up 
look and grey moustache, and who walked with a limp 
when last seen by the guard. 

At last it was all over. The mourners had de- 
parted, the blinds were drawn up, and everything 
began to look as usual, in spite of the empty chair in 
the study and the letter which would never be finished 
now. 

Dinner was served and the two who sat down to it 


150 


THE FATAL REQUEST , 


found that it was still possible to take a certain interest 
in what was put before them. 

Downstairs considerable relief was openly felt and 
expressed that the house was free of the mysterious 
presence, the thought of which had caused so many 
cold shudders, and such a distaste to look over one’s 
shoulder, particularly after dusk. 

“ What I objects to in the death in a family,” said 
the cook, after a nice little hot supper, “ is not so much 
the funeral, which draws us all together like, or the 
undertaker’s men, as I’ve generally found civil spoken 
and sociable, but it’s the waking up at nights and 
thinking of the coffin, and listening for you don’t know 
what. But there, you must take your ups with your 
downs, and black always was becoming to me from a 
child 1” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE BURNT LETTER. 

I T was exactly nine o’clock on the night of the 
funeral when Ted Burritt put the key in the door 
and admitted himself into the room which had been 
his father’s study. 

He carried a lamp in his hand, which he placed 
upon the writing table. Everything remained as it had 
been on that former visit ; the only difference lay in 
the fact that the film of dust was a little thicker upon 
the various contents of the room. 

He was about to seat himself in the old leather 
chair in which his father had always sat, when, 
apparently changing his mind, he pushed it back 
against the wall, and looked round for another, which 
he dragged forward. 

He took the sealed packet from his breast pocket 
and placed it on the table before him. It was sealed 
up in a sheet of blue paper and endorsed — 

“ Papers found by me, after the accident, on the person of the 
late Silas Burritt, Esq., and preserved intact. 

“Jeremiah Cartwright, M.D., etc.” 

It was of considerable bulk, but Ted knew that his 
father was in the habit of carrying about him a mis- 
cellaneous assortment of documents of no particular 
importance. For some time he hesitated to break the 
seal. There might be, after all, something there that 
the dead man would wish no other eyes but his own 
to look upon ; something, not exactly discreditable, he 
151 


152 


TIIE FATAL REQUEST 


would not acknowledge that even to himself, but some- 
thing which he might have wished kept private, and 
which no one else should seek to pry into. If that 
were the case 

In a sudden Quixotic spasm he cast a glance in the 
direction of the grate. It was, of course, under the 
circumstances, empty, and the fact decided him. It 
was madness to dream for a moment of destroying 
anything without a strict examination. It was not as 
though he were prompted by sacrilegious curiosity or 
any other unworthy feeling. His only object was to 
attempt to unravel the mystery which enveloped his 
father’s fate, the clue to which, perhaps, lay under his 
very hand, contained within that same sheet of blue 
paper which bore the doctor’s superscription. And, 
while he hesitated, the “ tall, thin, elderly man with 
the grey moustache” was receding farther and farther 
into safe obscurity, and pursuit was becoming daily 
more and more difficult. He cast his scruples on one 
side, broke the seal and tore open the wrapper. At 
. the first sight of the contents thus revealed to view, 
the young man uttered an exclamation of dismay, for 
the first document which met his eye was burnt and 
brown, and reduced almost to tinder. 

Were they all alike? If so, the doctor would hardly 
have taken the pains to preserve them so carefully. 

With delicate manipulation he removed the top- 
most paper and placed it on one side. But, with all 
his care, the edges crumbled and broke away in his 
hands. 

Beneath this one was another equally injured ; but, 
below this again, was a paper only partially singed, so 
that an idea of its contents might be arrived at after 
careful inspection. From a few words that met his 
eye, he made it out to be a bill of lading, and put it 


THE BURNT LETTER. 


153 


aside with the others. The rest he spread out before 
him on the table. 

All, though still legible, were more or less injured 
by the fiery ordeal to which they had been, in some 
degree, subjected. The fire, which had stopped before 
reaching the upper part of the body, had been sufficient 
for this. 

There were all sorts of odds and ends among the 
collection. Scraps from newspapers, bills receipted 
and unreceipted, printed circulars, prospectuses, and 
about a dozen letters, in different hands, which were 
without envelopes and folded lengthways. 

These were also laid aside, after a very cursory 
glance, to be examined afterwards at leisure. That of 
which he was in search was not among them. He 
looked in vain for the thick, scrawling handwriting 
which had been so noticeable on the envelope. But 
there was nothing that at all corresponded to it among 
those that he spread out before him. 

He ran his eye over them again. 

What was that? Something which crackled as he 
laid his hand upon one of the papers nearest to him. 
Something thin, which had been folded twice, and had 
slipped in beneath another unperceived. 

It was a sheet of foreign note-paper, much singed, 
and written only upon one side. With infinite pains, 
he opened and smoothed it out on the table before him. 
The flimsy paper almost crumbled beneath his touch, 
and when it finally lay open before him, he saw that 
the greater part of the sheet, with the writing it con- 
tained, was entirely destroyed. 

Words, sentences — for every letter of which he 
would have paid in gold — were utterly and irretrievably 
lost. Only about half the contents remained ; enough 
for him to swear to the writing — the heavy scrawling 


154 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


hand — which corresponded with that which he had 
observed on the envelope of the letter which had in- 
directly brought about his father’s death. 

He pushed all the other papers together in a heap. 
Not another second would he waste upon them. Then, 
with the burnt letter before him, with an elbow planted 
on each side, and his head supported between his 
hands, he bent himself to the task of deciphering what 
still remained. 

The clock in the hall outside struck quarter after 
quarter, but still he pored over his task. Sometimes 
he added a few words to a sheet of paper which he had 
taken from the desk before him ; sometimes he erased 
what he had already written. Once he rose and left 
the room, to return after a few moments with a micro- 
scope, which he brought to bear upon the document 
before him. But nothing would bring back the words 
which were for ever lost. Nothing would restore the 
sense which those broken sentences lacked. 

At last, after at least an hour spent in this way, he 
made a gesture of despair. 

“ I suppose I must give it up. The task is beyond 
me — at least, this portion of it. If I could only get to the 
bottom of this, at least half the mystery would be solved. 
For what little I have managed to decipher, points to 
something dishonourable — something in the back- 
ground which would at least supply the missing motive.” 

He cast his eye again over the words which he had 
written on the sheet of paper before him. 

“ They tell me nothing as they are. They even serve 
to cast some implication upon my father’s honour, 
and ” 

He broke off abruptly, and the colour forsook his 
face. What was it the doctor had hinted at ? Some- 
thing discreditable in the past ? 


THE BURNT LETTER. 


155 


He glanced at the paper again. “ But this speaks 
of something worse ” 

He gave a hasty look round, as though he half -feared 
the possibility of the presence of a listener, as he 
whispered the words — “ Something criminal ! ” 

He leaned back in his chair, his arms hanging loosely 
down, and his eyes fixed upon the blank wall opposite 
to him. Gradually, from out of nothing, his father’s 
face began to form itself and smile down upon him, 
with its open countenance, its benevolent, kindly 
expression and unruffled brow. And as he conjured 
up this face of him whom they had that day laid in his 
grave, the other, younger countenance became less 
troubled. It was almost as though he heard a well- 
known voice saying, “ Do I look the sort of man to 
have done anything to bring disgrace upon my name? 
Is this the face of one who has ever given his children 
cause to blush for him?” 

Then, as the face faded away, he roused himself 
from his attitude of despondency. 

“ I’ll have another try,” he exclaimed- to himself ; 
“ and, whatever may be the result, I’ll never believe 
that there can be the slightest suspicion of wrong-doing 
attached to him ! No, whatever there may be ambiguous 
in its meaning must, without doubt, relate, not to my 
father, but to the man who wrote it.” 

He took up his pen again, and once more concentrated 
his whole attention upon the burnt letter. 

Another half-hour passed, at the end of which time 
he raised his head. 

“ Well, I have done my best ; but, in spite of that, 
the sentences baffle me, and the meaning they appear 
to bear may be variously interpreted.” 

The paper before him contained a number of broken 
phrases — the beginnings and fragments of sentences. 


156 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


The upper part of the letter had been burnt away, and 
the first word which was decipherable was his father’s 
name — “ Silas.” 

Below this might be read, with some difficulty, by 
anyone who was willing to devote sufficient patience 
and minute attention to the task, the following inco- 
herent scraps of sentences, in which, after all, there 
was a good deal of guess work 

“Have not forgotten ... of twenty years ... on receiving 
this letter ... at once for Dover . . . expect to reach . . . There 
is that between us which . . . not allow you to deny ... I ask 
. . . and many . . . you alone can ... If you refuse I shall . . . 
that you ... as the criminal ... of your youth ” 

Beneath this last sentence he could make out what 
he took to be the letter J, which apparently stood for 
the initial letter of the Christian name ; but the rest of 
the signature was burnt and obliterated. 

At this moment something again recalled to him the 
mysterious words which he had heard the night before 
the funeral, and he looked round for a possible inter- 
pretation of them. 

The room was very plainly furnished. A square of 
faded carpet covered the centre of the floor ; a small 
book-case stood in one corner ; a table, littered with 
newspapers, magazines and various other articles, in 
another; an old leather sofa was in front of the 
window; a chair or two to match; and the large 
writing table, fitted with every convenience — the one 
handsome piece of furniture the room contained — 
completed the fist. 

' His eye roamed from one object to another, and his 
tongue repeated the words — “ The spring at the back 
of the recess ! ” What recess? Where? And again 
he found himself wondering whether it were by any 
means possible that the voice had really sounded in 


THE BURNT LETTER. 


157 


his ears, or had only been part of a troubled dream ! 
Could he have been really awake when he heard it ? And 
if so what sort of an interpretation could be placed upon 
it ? On the other hand, if it were merely a dream — an 
illusion of the senses — why should those words in 
particular be the ones chosen to haunt him ? He had 
undoubtedly heard those words, or seemed to hear 
them. Was it his father’s spirit seeking to commu- 
nicate with him ? And, if so, what was the nature of 
the communication ? 

There could be only one answer to this — the murder. 
And only one individual to whom it could have re- 
ference — the murderer. 

Many and many a time had he read of such things, 
only to scoff at them in his own mind, as “ humbug ” ; 
but, somehow, 11 o’clock at night on the day on which 
the funeral had taken place (to say nothing of those 
other experiences through which he had passed), found 
him less ready to scoff than before. 

There might be something in it, after all ! 

Perhaps some of the tales he had read and listened 
to were not entirely devoid of truth. Some very wise 
and learned people had been implicit believers in the 
spirit world and . in the possibility of the shades of the 
departed re-visiting the scenes of their former life and 
watching over and directing those in whom their affec- 
tions had been centred while upon earth. And, after 
all, why should not this be? 

At the same time that he reasoned thus, Ted Burritt 
became unpleasantly aware that, by this time, all the 
members of the household had retired to rest, and that 
he had, as it were, the whole house to himself. 

It was very nice and quiet— almost too quiet, and 
there certainly was an unpleasant draught from tht 
door behind him upon the nape of his neck. 


158 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Suppose, even now, the communication, whatever it 
might be, were about to be made to him. Bah 1 What 
a coward he was ! Perhaps the awful sights he had 
witnessed such a little while ago had shaken his nerves. 
But he would not give way this time, as he had before. 

He rose from his chair, and took a turn round the 
room. The recess 1 What was meant by the recess? 

He began to pace up and down rapidly, hoping that 
the physical exertion might stimulate the action of his 
brain and show him what it was he sought. 

Presently he began to feel a certain sense of excite- 
ment stealing over him. The blood tingled in his 
veins, his breathing became hurried, his heart increased 
its pulsations. He felt as though he were on the 
brink of some important discovery. 

Quicker and quicker he went — up and down, up and 
down. 

All at once he stopped suddenly and spoke some 
words aloud. 

“ Father,” he said, as though addressing someone 
present. “ Show me what you mean.” He drew up 
his chair and resumed his seat ; but there was that in 
his behaviour which suggested one under the control of 
some mesmeric influence, or who walked in his sleep. 

Before him were the rows of drawers and pigeon- 
holes. The former locked, the latter filled to repletion, 
with papers of every sort and description. Immediately 
in front of him, his eye rested upon a small door. To 
his surprise, he now observed for the first time that the 
key was in the lock. He turned it and saw more papers 
within, tied up in bundles and endorsed. Some were 
quite yellow with age, and some were more modern. 

He began to remove these, and, as he did so, he saw 
among them a bundle of his own letters, written, most 
of them, in a boyish hand, and endorsed, “ Ted’s letters, 


THE BURNT LETTER. 


159 


written from school.” To think of these last haying 
been so religiously preserved. At another time this 
would have moved him considerably, but just now he 
had something else to do, and so laid them aside with 
the others. 

He went to work deliberately until he had quite 
cleared the space. It was not very large, but now 
that it was empty it formed a sort of 

He did not finish the word even in his own mind, 
but began to pass his fingers over the panel at the back, 
slowly backwards and forwards, an inch at a time. 

At last, something seemed to catch his nail — some- 
thing which projected ever so slightly. 

He pressed it — the spring at the back of the recess — 
firmly. There was a little jarring sound, and the back 
of the partition fell forward, revealing another compart- 
ment behind the first. 

This at first seemed to contain nothing but a packet 
of old letters, tied round with a faded blue ribbon. The 
writing, such as caught his eye, was of that description 
once known and highly esteemed as the Italian hand. 
They were his mother’s letters, written before her 
marriage and treasured ever since. 

A bundle of old love letters. Was that all ? 

No, there was something else. A photograph, faded 
and yellow, like the letters. A photograph of a young 
man, in the dress, that now seemed old-fashioned and 
ridiculous, of twenty or thirty years ago. The features 
were hardly distinguishable, but on the back was written 
a name and a date — “James Ferrers, taken June, 
1858.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE NEW CLIENT. 

M R. JOHN SHARP’S offices were situated off the 
Strand. And at eleven o’clock one morning 
Mr. John Sharp was seated in his private room, expect- 
ing a visitor, or, as Mr. Sharp would have expressed 
it himself, a client. While waiting for the latter to 
put in an appearance, he whiled away the time with 
the morning paper. 

At the particular moment to which we refer, his at- 
tention was engaged by something in the top right hand 
corner of the outside sheet, which seemed to afford him 
a considerable amount of satisfaction. 

“ It certainly does read well,” he remarked to himself, 
complacently, “ I can’t deny that, though I did draw 
it up myself. I wonder,” he continued, rasping his 
chin with his fore-finger, “whether the gent who’s 
made the appointment for 11 o’clock, came from the 
advertisement, or whether he was recommended ? It 
doesn’t much matter which, but I think, on the whole, 
I’d rather put it down to the advertisement. It costs 
me a good deal to keep going, and I should like to think 
that the money wasn’t thrown away. ‘ Cast your bread 
upon the waters ’ — something of that sort.” 

His eye travelled back again to the top right hand 
paragraph. 

“ Yes,” he remarked again, “ it certainly does read 
well. Just the thing to inspire confidence in anybody 
who wants a delicate job well carried out.” 

160 


THE NEW CLIENT. 


161 


The advertisement referred to was as follows : 



HARP’S DETECTIVE AGENCY. Swift, sure and secret. All 


inquiries conducted with the greatest skill and discretion. 
Evidence obtained on any subject. All communications regarded 
as strictly private and confidential. Missing friends traced, and 
lost property recovered, by the best and least expensive method. 
Cases of fraud and libel successfully investigated. Mysterious 
occurrences, of any description, elucidated, and dark secrets 
brought to the full light of day. No clue too insignificant to be 
followed up ; no matter too intricate to unravel. Cases of identi- 
fication receive special attention, and are invariably proved beyond 
doubt. No branch of the business neglected. A speciality made 
of breach of promise cases. A large staff of ladies from the highest 
grades of society employed in making delicate investigations. 
Mr. John Sharp promises to all those who honour him by seeking 
his aid the experience of twenty years and the secrecy of the con- 
fessional. The entire respectability of this Agency is guaranteed. 
Terms moderate. An appointment by letter is advisable. 

“ Yes,” he repeated, “ it is uncommonly neat. 
What I should call concise, and, at the same time, 
attractive to the eye. Just the sort of advertisement 
that, if I didn’t happen to be in the business myself 
and wanted a little assistance in some delicate matter, 
would strike home and make me write for an appoint- 
ment by the next post. That little reference to the 
ladies is very fetching ; ‘ in the highest grades of 
society,’ too, is what I call a most artistic touch. It 
is quite true,” he mused, “that there’s no one employed 
at present but the charwoman ; but, as she says her- 
self, she goes to scrub floors for some of the very best 
families, and that gives her a certain tone. Besides, 
one must now and then sacrifice the truth for the 
good of the profession.” 

Mr. John Sharp, as regarded his outward appear- 
ance, was somewhat of the weasel order. As he him- 
self often said, “ Sharp was his name and sharp was 
his nature.” He was apparently between fifty and 


11 


162 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


sixty, had a shrewd face, a head covered by a growth 
of iron-grey bristles, cut down to within half an inch 
of his scalp (for the more convenient assumption of 
wigs), a thin-lipped and wide, but inscrutable mouth, 
and a nose that seemed made on purpose for poking in 
corners and out-of-the-way places. 

“ My new client’s late,” he continued, looking at his 
watch. “But there, I notice that they never are 
punctual unless there’s money in it — a will or an 
embezzlement or a jewel robbery — and, from the gent’s 
being already ten minutes behind his time, I conclude 
it’s neither of those. Perhaps,” he continued, referring 
to a letter which lay before him, “ it’s a breach of pro- 
mise. I should rather like a breach of promise or an 
elopement. There’s been a good deal doing in the 
blackmailing line lately, and I should like something 
light for a change. I shouldn’t altogether object to a 
disappearance in high life ; but for preference, give me 
a breach of promise case or — a good murder. Not one 
of your common, everyday ones, but something that 
would take a good deal of working out, and be a credit 
to everybody concerned in it. Yes ” — reflectively — “ I 
think, if I had my choice, I should say give me a 
murder. We’ve been slack of murders lately — very 
slack indeed, and it’s bad for the profession.” Then, 
suddenly recalling something — “I wonder whether that 
fellow Jennings will remember what I told him before ? 
He’s new to the business, and I’d better make sure.” 

He opened a door of communication and put his 
head through. 

“ Jennings ! ” 

“Yessir.” 

“When the gentleman comes, don’t forget to tell 
him that I’m engaged for the moment, but shall be at 
liberty shortly ; and mind you come in when you hear 


THE NEW CLIENT. 


163 


me bang the door, and ask if I am disengaged and can 
see the gentleman now.” 

“ Yessir.” 

“ You are sure you quite understand me?” 

“ Yes, sir. Tell the gent you’re engaged — wait till 
I hear the door bang, as though the other party had 
just gone out — come in and inquire ” 

“ That will do, I think, Jennings. We must keep up 
the dignity and etiquette of the profession. I think I 
hear someone coming upstairs,” and Mr. Sharp darted 
back into his room and closed the door. 

The faithful Jennings performed his duty to the letter, 
and the new-comer took a seat until th&'oracle he had 
come to consult was at liberty to receive him. In a few 
moments a door was heard to bang, and the rest of the 
programme was carried out according to arrangement. 

“ I think,” said Mr. Sharp, rising and referring to a 
memorandum, as the gentleman was ushered in, “ that 
I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Burritt ? Will 
you be good enough to be seated.” 

The visitor admitted that this was his name, and 
took the seat indicated. 

“ Something I can do for you? ” inquired Mr. Sharp, 
placing the tips of his fingers together interrogatively. 

“ I hope so,” was the reply. 

“ Ah ! ” said Mr. Sharp, relinquishing his attitude in 
favour of a note-book of massive proportions, “ may I 
ask what particular branch of the profession your busi- 
ness relates to ? ” (Then, in a mental aside, “ In mourn- 
ing for someone — a will case, no doubt.”) 

The new client, who had with him a small leather 
bag, opened it, and produced three articles, which he 
placed upon the table before him. They consisted of a 
square, flat package, a photograph and a ball from a revol- 
ver. (“ Notawillcase, after all,” was Mr. Sharp's inward 

11 — 3 


164 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


comment. “ But come, now, this looks promising.”) 

Then, aloud, “ Suppose you begin from the beginning 
and tell me all about it. I shall not interrupt you,” 
as he opened the note-book and moistened a stump of 
lead pencil with his tongue. 

He kept his word, though he made copious notes, and 
for some moments there was only the monotonous sound 
of the one voice, as the new client recapitulated all the 
circumstances which had led to his seeking Mr. Sharp’s 
assistance, and which have already been fully gone into. 

When he had finished, “ I thought the name seemed 
familiar to me,” said the other. “To be sure, I re- 
member all the circumstances connected with the sad 
affair. And the inquest, too. I remember they brought 
it in ‘ Wilful murder against some person or persons 
unknown.’ And so you think you have hit upon the 
guilty party ? ” 

“ I am certain of it,” was the determined answer. 
“I believe I know his name, and have proof in my 
own mind that he committed the deed. What I want 
you to do is to trace him for me — or rather, put me 
on his track and let me run him down.” 

“ Phew ! ” whistled Mr. Sharp, softly, under his 
breath. “ This is something quite out of the common, 
this is. Uncommon fierce he looks over it, too. Hope 
he has got some good ground to go upon. Wants to 
have a finger in the pie, too. Ho, ho l Well, I sup- 
pose I must humour him. 

“ Suppose,” he said, addressing the young man, 
“ that we examine the evidence. This is the bullet, 
you say ; and this a photograph you found among the 
deceased gentleman’s papers. Might I inquire what 
this is? ” laying his hand upon the other article. 

“ That is the letter I spoke of, which made the 
appointment which my father kept, and was thus, 


TEE NEW CLIENT. 


105 


indirectly, the cause of his death. It is partly 
destroyed; but enough remains to show that there 
was ” — here he hesitated for the first time — “ some- 
thing of the nature of a secret between them.” 

He unfastened the parcel, and showed the burnt 
letter carefully inclosed between two pieces of card- 
board. “ And here,” he said, handing him another paper, 
“ is my copy of the same, which will save the consider- 
able amount of trouble involved in reading the original.” 

Mr. Sharp ran his eye down the page. “ Humph ! ” 
he remarked; “somewhat vague and unsatisfactory. 
It certainly seems to hint at something of a suspicious 
nature between the two.” 

“ Don’t make any mistake,” put in Ted Burritt at 
this point, “ whatever there may be of that nature does 
not — cannot apply to my father.” 

“ Probably not ! probably not I But you must allow 
a certain amount of ambiguity — of cutting both ways. 
You see ” — with a glance at his client’s face — “ we must 
have a motive ; and we should dispose of half the diffi- 
culty if we could prove the knowledge of some nefarious 
— some ” — here he referred to a sentence in the copy 
of the letter — “ some criminal proceedings concerning 
the writer on the part of the — er — the unfortunate 
gentleman who was shot — something which lay between 
those two alone. Why, then we should be able to see 
our way. Who knows? — perhaps your father — 
Mr. Burritt, senior — might have threatened him with 
exposure I ” His son shook his head. “ You think 
not ? I am sorry for that, for I am rather incli »ed to 
take that view of the case myself.” 

“ I don’t think it likely that my father would ever 
have condescended to such a proceeding as that.” 

“ But suppose there was strong provocation. Sup- 
pose those two to be alone in a first class carriage. 


166 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Suppose that a sudden quarrel arises between them ; 
that the deceased, as I have just said, is provoked to 
utter threats as to what he may or may not do. Suppose 
the one threatened who carries a revolver — by-the-by, we 
have got to establish that fact ; there must be no taking 
things for granted — makes up his mind to silence him 
once for all by the means of a bullet through his brain.” 

He took up this latter article, regarded it attentively, 
as though he would have liked to put a question or two, 
and, replacing it, continued, “ Then comes the accident. 
He could hardly have calculated upon that ; but it 
simplifies matters wonderfully, and, under cover of the 
confusion, he makes his escape without attracting the 
slightest notice, except on the part of the guard, who, 
as luck will have it — or, perhaps I should say Pro- 
vidence, for I’m a great believer in Providence myself. 
But for Providence things would very often be a great 
deal worse than they are ; but for Providence I might 
be in prison myself, instead of helping others to get 
there. But this is wandering from the point. Providence 
— I mean, the guard — notices a tall, elderly gentleman, 
with a grey moustache, and, as I think you said he 
described it, a sort of dried-up look about him, and 
who now walks with a limp — I should like to know 
how he came by that limp — coming towards him, and 
recognizes him as one of the two passengers he had 
himself locked into the fourth carriage from the engine. 
Guard congratulates him on his escape and asks after 
the other gentleman. Gets no reply, and from that 
moment the elderly party with the limp disappears 
and is not heard of again. Of course, all this tells 
against the aforesaid individual with the grey mous- 
tache and the limp — not forgetting his evident anxiety 
to secure himself from interruption by previously bribing 
the guard to keep out any other passengers.” 


TEE NEW CLIENT. 


167 


He paused to take breath here. “ I think I have 
stated the case pretty clearly ? ” 

His client nodded. 

“Now,” continued Mr. Sharp, “before proceeding 
farther, just let us come to an understanding as to 
what you want me to do ? ” 

“ I want you,” was the answer, “ to trace this other ” 
— (“ Meaning the party with the limp,” interpolated 
Mr. Sharp) — “from the time that he was last seen.” 

“Very good,” from Mr. Sharp. 

“ Also to trace his history backwards from that time. 
To find out where he came from — as much of his past 
life as you can — the hotel at which he put up at Dover 
— every possible detail that you can glean as to what 
passed between my father and him in the course of the 
visit — his reputation — his connections — his means — 
in short, anything and everything that may have the 
slightest reference to the affair.” 

Mr. Sharp took down these varied instructions, as 
they fell from the lips of his client, waited to see if 
there was anything more, and then observed : 

“ And the party’s name ? ” 

Ted handed him the photograph, and showed him 
what was written on the back. 

“ You have no doubt that this is the identical indi* 
vidual that you want traced? ” 

“ I have reasons of my own,” was the emphatic 
answer, given with a certain amount of solemnity, 
“ for feeling absolutely convinced of the fact.” 

Mr. Sharp made another note, and then closed the 
;.ocket-book with a snap. 

“ Very good, sir, I think we understand each other. 
And you would wish me to begin my investiga- 
tions ? ” 

“ At once ! ” 


168 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

“ Exactly so ; and the starting point should be ” 

“ Dover.” 

“ Just what I was about to observe myself.” 

There was a little discussion here about terms, 
expenses, etc., which, being satisfactorily arranged, 
the client rose and prepared to take his departure. 

“ You will leave me this ” — the detective indicated 
the photograph — “ and your copy of the letter ? ’ 

Ted Burritt assented and replaced the other articles. 

“ I shall make a point,” said Mr. Sharp, “ of going 
through the report of the inquest again to refresh my 
memory, and in case there should be any little fact 
that may have escaped yours. At the same time, I 
can’t help regretting that that most important letter 
should have been so much damaged. But we must 
do our best — we must do our best, and I think I can 
promise you — but it’s not my habit to boast. By-the- 
by,” as he rose to open the door for his new client, “I 
forgot to ask, but what is to be done with — let us call 
him the individual with the limp, when he is found ? 
I suppose you intend handing him over to justice? 
But, after all, I must tell you that your evidence, up 
to the present, is purely circumstantial. You have 
only the testimony of the guard, who, if called upon, 
might be quite unable to identify the individual — a 
bullet — an old photograph, taken a quarter of a century 
ago or more — and your own convictions, which would 
go for nothing in a court of law. And you have to 
prove — checking the items off on his fingers — “ First, 
that he wrote that letter ; secondly, that he was the 
other passenger, and, thirdly, that he fired that shot.” 

The answer was firm and concise — 

“ I don’t require you to prove the murder so much 
as to trace the man, and, when you have done so — 
leave him to me!” 


CHAPTEE XIX. 


“TO BE LEFT TILL CALLED FOB." 

HREE weeks later and the curtain rising dis- 



--L closes the same scene and the same dramatis 
•persona. It is the second interview between Mr. John 
Sharp and his new client. 

“ So you had my letter, sir ? ” said the former. “ I 
hope you didn’t think I was wasting time ? But the 
fact is, you gave me rather a large order. ‘ Find out 
all you can,’ you said. And, besides that, I had 
another bit of business to look after at the same time 
— a breach of promise — which I had to superintend 
myself, though I left the details to my subordinate. 
It’s a remarkable thing,” he reflected. “ It isn’t 
often a man can calculate upon getting just what he 
wants in this world, and yet here I am, with the very 
two things I had set my heart upon — a breach of pro- 
mise and a murder — a murder and a breach of promise ! 
Who’s going to deny the interposition of Providence 
after that, I should like to know ? It really is a most 
remarkable coincidence. And, as you mentioned no 
particular date,” he continued, out loud, “ I con- 
cluded that I might take my own time.” 

“ I do not care how much time you take over the 
affair so long as you bring it to a successful issue. 
(“ See advertisement,” murmured the other.) “ The 
question is, what have you been doing? What have 


169 


170 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


you discovered? And do you think that you are on 
the right track ? ” 

“You shall see for yourself, sir,” and the detective, 
introducing the pocket-book, which was much swollen 
in size, produced from thence a number of documents, 
which he sorted and spread out before him. 

“ To begin with,” he went on, “ I had to discover at 
which hotel the two gentlemen put up. I went first 
of all to the ‘ Lord Warden,’ before trying any of the 
others, and — as a piece of good luck at starting — 
in the visitor’s book I found a couple of entries, both 
under the same date — April 24th — ‘James Ferrers’ 
and * S. Burritt.’ ” 

At this remarkable confirmation of his suspicions, 
the young man could not restrain a violent start, which 
Mr. Sharp received as a tribute to the profession in 
general and himself in particular. 

“ I think that was the name you mentioned ? ” — with 
an air of complacency. 

“ I had not expected that you would discover it so 
easily,” murmured his client. “ It almost seems — but 
never mind, go on ! ” with eagerness. 

“ That was the name written upon the back of the 
photograph, and that was the name of the gentleman 
who arrived first and secured a private sitting room, 
mentioning at the same time that he expected a friend 
from London, who would remain for the night and 
would require a bedroom. Between six and seven, a 
gentleman did arrive, who inquired if anyone of the 
name of Ferrers were stopping there. The waiter 
told him yes, that a gentleman of that name had 
arrived by the boat that morning, and directed him 
to the door of the private sitting room. The waiter 
also informed me that they dined together at the 
table d’hote, and seemed, to all appearances, on the 


“TO BE LEFT TILL CALLED FOR. 1 ' 


171 


most amicable terms. They conversed together in 
low tones during the progress of the meal, and the 
waiter (who seems to have his wits about him) expressed 
an opinion to the effect that from the deal they had to 
say to each other, it must have been some time since 
they had last met. The next morning they breakfasted 
together in their private room, and left by the 4.30 
train in the afternoon. The waiter also remembers 
hearing the stouter of the two gentlemen — the one who 
came down from London — mention that he had passed 
a very bad night, which he attributed to the cucumber 
he took with his salmon. He (the waiter) also men- 
tioned another circumstance, which I take to be of 
considerable importance, which was that one of the 
chambermaids told him that, from the appearance of 
the bed, she believed that the gentleman in No. 37 — 
meaning the one who had crossed by the boat — had 
slept with a pistol, or something, under his pillow, and 
if so, ‘ it was a mercy it hadn’t gone off in the middle 
of the night and shot someone ! ’ Ah ! you see the 
importance of that bit of evidence ? Altogether, I think 
you will agree with me, when I tell you that I con- 
sidered that waiter had well earned the half-sovereign I 
gave him. He also added the information that the 
gentleman from London stayed at the hotel as the 
guest of the other, who defrayed all expenses, and he 
offered — I mean the waiter — to get me a copy of the 
bill,” and handing him one of the documents which lay 
before him, “ here it is ! ” 

His client ran his eye down it, then, “ Go on I ” he 
said again. 

“ The next thing I had to do,” continued Mr. Sharp, 
“was to discover the boat by which the gentleman, 
who gave the name of Ferrers, had arrived. This was 
easily done. I found that he had crossed from Calais 


172 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


by the Black Eyed Susan ; that there had been a 
large amount of luggage — heavy packing cases and 
that sort of thing — which had all been sent on to 
London to await the owner’s arrival. As soon as I 
ascertained this fact, I came back here directly. The 
probability was that the luggage had been already 
claimed; but if not it would be plain sailing. I 
obtained permission to inspect the luggage depdt 
and ” He paused for the sake of effect. 

“ Go on ! go on ! ” exclaimed the other. 

“I found a number of large packages and cases 
marked with the initials J. F. still waiting to be 
claimed. From the marks and directions upon them, 

I made out that the party they belonged to had come 
from America, and had sailed from New York to 
Havre by one of the Transatlantic Company’s express 
mail steamers; that he had visited Paris, and after- 
wards crossed to Dover vi& Calais. Now,” raising an 
impressive fore-finger, “the whole matter lies in a 
nutshell. Either he will claim his luggage, and by 
that means render detection a mere matter of A, B, C 
—or, if he be a cautious man who knows that he has 
something to conceal — something that might be a 
matter of life or death, and consequently has no desire 
to put it into anyone’s power to trace him by the 
means thus afforded — he may decide to relinquish his 
property, whatever its value, as being, after all, less 
precious than his own safety. I incline to the latter 
view myself.” 

His listener’s face clouded over. “ I was afraid the^ 
task was going to prove almost too easy, but now I see 
difficulties springing up all round us.” 

“ My dear sir,” exclaimed Mr. Sharp, “ what are 
difficulties? In our profession, mere cobwebs, which 
we brush away with the broom of our experience.” 


“TO BE LEFT TILL GALLED FOB” 


173 


He paused to enjoy the metaphor (“ That’s rather 
neat,” he reflected, “worth making a note of for 
future use ”). 

Then — “ My dear sir, there is no need whatever to 
be discouraged — and besides, you have not heard me 
out.” 

“ Oh, is there something more yet ? ” 

“ In the event of the luggage being claimed ” 

“ Yes, that is what I want to know. How are we 
to know who claims it ? ” 

“ If you will allow me,” said Mr. Sharp, “ I was 
just about to explain — indeed it is such an exceedingly 
simple matter that it scarcely requires any explana- 
tion. I have made an arrangement with one of the 
employes — I need hardly say a pecuniary arrange- 
ment — to the effect that he is to keep an eye upon this 
luggage, and in the event of its being claimed to have 
it followed — there is sure to be someone handy for that 
purpose — and note its destination. And, in that case, 
unless the individual under suspicion is uncommonly 
cute, I think we may safely say, we have him.” 

“There was no name on the luggage, and no- 
- thing ? ” 

“ Only the initials J. F.,” interrupted the detective, 
“ and * passenger from Calais to Dover.’ ” 

“ Then it all depends upon his appearing to claim 
the luggage ? ” 

“ A good deal depends upon that, and everything 
depends upon nothing occurring to excite his sus- 
picions. Of course he must have seen the account of 
the inquest and the verdict, ‘ Wilful murder against 
some person or persons unknown.’ At the same time 
he is unaware of the fact of his name having come out 
— though he may be uneasy in his mind about the fate 
of that letter. I almost wonder that he did not take 


174 


TIIE FATAL REQUEST. 


the precaution of searching the dead body, on the 
chance of anything of a compromising character being 

concealed about it ? It certainly showed a lack of ” 

and Mr. Sharp shook his head in deprecation — “a 
lack of experience and a sad want of method. But 
perhaps” — with an evident desire to do justice to the 
absent — “he had not time. And then again, he may 
think that there is nothing to prove the fact, that the 
luggage, sent on direct from Dover, has anything to do 
with thit missing passenger, concerning whom so 
many inquiries have been made. In that case, sup- 
posing that the luggage in question contains articles of 
value, he may claim it after all.” 

“ I hope he may,” was the fervent response. 

“ Then, above all things, we must keep quiet, and if 
the police authorities should pay you a visit, for the 
purpose of making inquiries into the matter, you will 
remember to be cautious and not give them the least 
hint, or we shall have it proclaimed in all the papers, 
that the police have a clue, and that will put our man 
on his guard at once.” 

Ted assented to this, and asked, “ But have you dis- 
covered anything relating to the past? — anything to 
show why he left England and went to America? 
Why it was my father never mentioned his name in all 
those years ? — and why he has returned at last ? ” 

Mr. Sharp referred to another of the documents before 
him. “ I have been hard at work ever since my return 
to town, trying to pick up the thread. I made all 
sorts of inquiries, examined old directories, and 
thoroughly investigated every possible source of'inform- 
ation — not forgetting the criminal records for the 
last twenty years — twenty years being a date which 
occurred in the letter which was so unfortunately 
destroyed— for anything concerning a party bearing 


U T0 BE LEFT TILL GALLED FOB: 


175 


the name of James Ferrers, without arriving at any 
satisfactory result.” 

His listener’s face fell. 

“At last/’ continued Mr. Sharp, feeling his chin 
with an air of satisfaction, “ it Occurred to me to try 
and find out the photographer — the one who took this 
photograph ” — selecting it from among the other articles 
before him. “ It was the merest chance, for 1858 is a 
good way back, and the business might have changed 
hands and come to smash half a dozen times in all those 
years. However, somewhat to my surprise, I found the 
same firm still carrying on business at the old address 
given on the back of this ” — handing the photograph to 
his client for inspection. “I explained matters, and 
found them very obliging and willing to give any assist- 
ance in their power. Not that I told them the real 
reason of my inquiries — oh, dear no, certainly not ! I 
believe” — and Mr. Sharp assumed an expression in 
which was blended the wisdom of the serpent and the 
harmlessness of the dove — “ I rather intimated that 
there was a considerable amount of property, not to 
mention the reversion of a title going a-begging. Of 
course it was too much to expect that they would 
remember anything about a customer who came to 
them so far back as 1858 ; but they referred back to 
some of their books, and ” — triumphantly — “ they 
found the name and an address. Here it is.” 

Mr. John Sharp handed him another paper, which 
had an address written on it, and continued, “ I went 
to this place, No. 23 South Street, Pentonville. There 
happened to be a card in the window announcing 
‘ apartments to let for a single gentleman.’ I saw the 
landlady, an ancient party, who looked as though she 
might have let lodgings to Noah and his family after 
they came out of the ark.” 


176 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Mr. Sharp paused a moment to give his client an 
opportunity of enjoying the joke before continuing. “ I 
described myself as a single gentleman, which was 
strictly true — I always speak the truth when possible 
— in search of apartments, who had been recommended 
by the doctor to try the air of Pentonville, as being both 
mild and bracing. I said that I had seen the card in her 
window, and been struck by the entire respectability 
and refinement of her premises, and would like to see the 
rooms. The old party — she was a Mrs. Jones — I have 
noticed that most ladies who let apartments are named 
Jones — was only too delighted to take me at my word. 
She showed me the rooms, and I expressed myself as 
entirely satisfied with them, with the exception of a 
group of wax flowers on a side table. I said that I 
had a peculiar antipathy to wax flowers, as they always 
reminded me of the Chamber of Horrors at Madame 
Tussaud’s ; and, after a little argument, she promised 
to have them removed if I decided on taking the apart- 
ments. Prom this, I led her on, and she required very 
little leading, to speak of her other lodgers — she having 
previously informed me that she had occupied the same 
house for forty years. She gave me a long account of 
the retired captain, who said he never knew what home 
meant until he took her rooms at eighteen shillings a 
week, kitchen fire included — boot cleaning and the use 
of the cruet extras ; and the maiden lady, who died 
in her arms, and whose last words were, * Mrs. Jones, 
may I find the Heavenly Mansions as comfortable as 
your first floor front ! ’ I led her back by degrees to 
the date in question, and found that she did remember 
a Mr. Perrers, or some such name, who was with her 
from ’fifty-eight to ’sixty. But after that date he left 
her, and went to the West End to live, * and she did 
hear •’ ” 


“TO BE LEFT TILL CALLED FOR.” 177 

44 What ? ” was the question, short and sharp, which 
fell from the other’s lips. 

“ 4 She did hear,’ ” continued Mr. Sharp, 44 4 though 
how she came by it she didn’t know, that he sub- 
sequently went abroad under a cloud.’ 

“I am sorry to say, sir,” he concluded, “that this 
was all. What the precise nature of the cloud was, 
and whether he was the only person under it, she was 
unable to say ; in fact, how she came to remember it 
at all, she hardly knew.” 

44 And that is all? ” 

44 That is all at present, and not so bad, I think, 
when you consider the difficulties we have had to con- 
tend with, and the length of time that has elapsed.” 

44 And what is to be done now? ” was the impatient 
question. 

44 Well, sir, in my opinion there is only one thing.” 

44 And that is?” 

44 Wait and see what happens I ” 


12 


CHAPTER XX. 


AT TWELVE OP THE CLOCK, 


T is all very well to tell another person to wait, but 



-L it is not so easy for the other person. However, 
Ted Burritt had plenty to keep him employed. 

There were all his father’s affairs to be settled, and 
arrangements made for carrying on the business in 
Timber Lane. 

Fortunately, there was old Jones (no relation to the 
lady of the same name who let lodgings at Pentonville) 
and who was equal to any amount of responsibility. 

The young man knew that there had been a half- 
formed intention on his father’s part to make this 
same individual a partner in the concern, which inten- 
tion, if carried out, would leave him (Ted) more 
completely at liberty to pursue the course on which he 
had embarked, and in which so much of his time and 
attention were swallowed up, so that it was impossible 
for him to take any real interest in the condition and 
prospects of the hop trade. 

The words (unknown to him) which his father had 
spoken, such a very short time before his death, as to 
how this event would affect his family, were fully 
realized. They were, at least, spared any anxiety as 
to the future, and were not destined to suffer those 
pecuniary trials which often add so much to the 
sorrows of a bereavement. 

His sister May, too, found, much to her relief, that 
she would not be driven by the force of circumstances 


178 


AT TWELVE OF THE CLOCK. 


179 


either to go out as a governess or mortify the flesh by 
the wearing of cotton gloves. 

Mrs. Burritt, however, still kept her bed for no par- 
ticular reason, unless, as she herself said, it were 
because it seemed hardly worth while to get up again 
for the little time that remained to her. For that she 
was destined to follow her husband very shortly was a 
growing conviction that neither persuasions nor patent 
medicines could remove. 

“ I know my duty to your poor, dear father too well 
to survive him long,” she remarked on more than one 
occasion. “ I don’t like to think of him lying out 
there — in all weathers — alone,” indicating that point of 
the compass which might be supposed to take in the 
churchyard where her husband lay. “ He was always 
a little subject to cold, and I can’t bear the idea of his 
getting all the drippings from the trees ! ” 

Meanwhile, a reward had been offered by the police 
authorities for any information that might lead to the 
discovery of the murderer in what was now generally 
known as “ the affair of the Dover express.” Copies 
were posted up outside all the different police stations 
and presented themselves prominently to the view of 
anyone who happened to pass by. 

“One hundred pounds reward I” and, but for the 
detective’s advice, this sum would have been doubled 
and trebled by the son of the murdered man. 

“ Wait and see what happens,” were the words of 
the oracle in the person of Mr. John Sharp. “ Let 
nothing be done to excite the alarm of the individual 
under suspicion.” 

Wait ! It was all very well, but one might wait for 
ever I Wait! when he longed to be up and doing; 
when the least delay seemed insupportable ! 

He had written to Dr. Jeremiah according to pro 

12 — 2 


180 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


mise, and the doctor’s answer, when it came, contained 
the news of an approaching flying visit to London— an 
expedition which was to combine business with pleasure. 

Under these circumstances, of course he must be 
invited to make Magnolia Lodge his headquarters. 
The two young people were quite agreed as to this, 
and, as Mrs. Burritt never disagreed with anyone 
(except, perhaps, with regard to the merits of a par- 
ticular pill), her consent was taken for granted. 

The invitation was dispatched and accepted, and, in 
due time, the doctor arrived, gold-rimmed spectacles, 
military bearing and all complete. 

He was full of news, and mentioned, among other 
items, that he had successfully vaccinated the Johnson 
twins and that iEsculapius was in poor health. 

It is hardly necessary to state that he made himself 
quite at home in an astonishing short space of time, 
and, before he had been in the house more than half 
an hour, had established himself as a prime favourite 
with all the members of the household, not forgetting the 
tortoiseshell cat whom he met on the stairs, and with 
whom he established confidential relations on the spot. 

“ I like your doctor,” said May Burritt to her 
brother. “ I liked him before I saw him, from what 
you told me about him ; but I like him better even 
than I thought I should now I’ve met him. He might 
be a little taller, and it’s a pity he’s named Jeremiah, 
but he’s very nice, in spite of that.” 

Later on, in the retirement of the best spare bed- 
room, Dr. Cartwright was communing with himself : 

“ I had an idea she’d be a nice girl, and I wasn’t fai 
out. If I’d said an uncommonly nice girl, I should 
have been nearer the mark. It’s astonishing how girls 
vary, and what dreadful specimens you do meet with ! 
Seems a sensible girl, too, this one. I should say her 


AT TWELVE OF THE CLOCK. 


181 


waist was quite twenty-two inches — and an appetite to 
match l And her name’s May ! Pretty name that — 
short and sweet ! What’s the good of having a name 
half a yard long? only a lot of unnecessary trouble — who 
wants to go shouting out four or five syllables when- 
ever they happen to require the individual it belongs 
to? ‘ Je-re-mi-ah ! ’ There’s a name for you 1 — 
heathenish — quite 1 And ‘Jerry’ isn’t any better — 
only fit for a donkey ! and ” — beginning a furious on- 
slaught upon himself with a couple of massive hair 
brushes — “ that’s just about what I am ! ” 

At the same moment that the doctor was pursuing 
these reflections, Ted Burritt was inserting the key 
into the lock of the study door. During all this time, 
he had allowed none to enter the room except himself. 
It seemed to him to be full of mysterious associations, 
which no outside influence should be allowed to disturb. 

The room already began to have a damp, mouldy 
atmosphere, and struck a chill to the heart of anyone 
entering it. This ghostly, unused air was more than 
ever perceptible at night. Nothing had been moved. 
His father’s chair, pushed back against the wall, re- 
mained just as he had left it on the last time he had 
entered the room. The pen lay beside the blotting pad, 
and the dust had accumulated over everything. He 
placed the lamp upon the table and drew up a chair. 

Just at this moment, there came a loud thump upon 
the floor of the room above. It was only Dr. Jeremiah 
who had dropped one of his hair brushes, but the sound 
made him start nervously. He listened for a moment, 
but all was still. Then he unlocked that same com- 
partment, removed the bundles of papers as before, 
touched the spring which opened the secret recess, and 
•took from it the burnt letter. 

He laid it before him, touching it as delicately as 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


l c 2 

though it were gold-leaf, instead of mere common 
foreign note-paper. 

Then he began to pore over it, and once more take 
up the task, which he had found so hopeless before, of 
trying to connect the broken and obliterated sentences. 

Again he took a sheet of paper and a pen from the 
desk — he would not use that other which lay beside 
him, with the ink dried upon it — and began again to 
write and re-write the words which he knew by heart. 

“Have not forgotten ... of twenty years ... on receiving 
this letter ... at once for Dover . . . expect to reach . . . There 
is that between us which . . . not allow you to deny ... I ask 
. . . and many . . . you alone can ... If you refuse, I shall . . . 
that you ... as the criminal ... of your youth . , . J. ” 

After working at this for about half an hour, without 
being able to add so much as a single syllable to what 
he had already deciphered, he threw down his pen. 

“ I would give anything to be able to discover the 
missing words, but it is quite beyond the bounds of 
possibility. And there is no hope this time of any 
intervention — any guiding influence to direct me — to 
point out the way — of any spirit voice to speak to me 
and tell me ” 

He broke off to listen again, but the only sound he 
heard was that made by Dr. Jeremiah, as he divested 
himself of his boots. 

Taking up the sheet of paper again on which he had 
been employed, he saw, to his surprise, as he turned it 
over, that it was the same on which his father had 

written those words: “My dear ” The letter 

which had never been finished ! It was strange he had 
not observed this before ! Then he took up the pen 
which his father must have last used, with the traces of 
ink dried upon it. Should he put it away carefully as a . 
relic ? Or should it remain where it was a little longer? 


AT TITELVE OF THE CLOCK. 


183 


He dropped it and gave expression to something between 
a yawn and a sigh. “ I’m uncommonly sleepy,” he said, 
“ and yet I don’t feel in the least inclined to go to bed. 
I have a sort of feeling as though I had to sit up for 
someone.” He gave a short laugh. “ Suppose I turn 
in on the sofa for a bit ? Very likely, if I were to go 
upstairs, the sleepiness would go off. I suppose the 
doctor’s turned in — I don’t hear any more sounds over- 
head. I’m glad May has taken a fancy to him. 
Perhaps he might be able to do the mater some good. 
I’ll take him to see her in the morning.” 

By this time he had reached the sofa. “ I wonder 
whether that luggage will ever be claimed ? I’m sick 
of waiting and letting matters slide. If I don’t hear 
from Sharp soon, I shall ” — he stretched himself on the 
couch — “ I shall do something — I don’t know what. I 
wonder what makes me so sleepy? I didn’t take any- 
thing at dinner but a little ” His eyes closed, and 

in a few moments he was sound asleep: A clock out- 
side in the hall struck the half-hour without any change 
taking place in his condition. Another interval of time 
passed and then the clock struck again. One — two — 
three — four — five — six — seven — eight — nine — ten — 
eleven — twelve! As it gave the last stroke, he started up. 

“ I’ve been dreaming,” he said to himself. “I thought 
everything had been made quite clear to me about ” 

Was he dreaming still ? or was there someone in the 
room beside himself? Someone sitting before the 

writing-table and bending forward as though The 

figure had a pen in its hand, but it made no sound as it 
trowelled over the paper ! The next moment it had raised 
its head so that he saw the face. ‘‘It is the continu- 
ation of my dream,” he said, and rubbed his eyes. He 
looked again. There was nothing there. The room 
was empty ; and he shivered with the uncomfortable 


184 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


chilly feeling which comes to us on waking when our 
repose has been taken elsewhere than in our own beds. 

“ There is no end to my fancies,” he said to himself. 
“It is strange, though, how long the influence of a 
dream sometimes remains with us. I will talk to the 
doctor about it to-morrow. No doubt he will recom- 
mend a tonic.” He rose from the sofa. 

“ It must be late. I remember now, it was the 
clock striking twelve that roused me. I heard it in my 
sleep. That was a strange dream I had. I thought 
that my father had not been murdered, after all — that 
he told me so with his own bps. And then I woke up 
and thought I saw him sitting in his own chair before 
the table, writing. Well, there is nothing remarkable 
about that, as I had just been dreaming about him, and 
was only half awake.” 

He approached the writing table and passed his 
hand across his eyes. 

“ How does that chair come to be there, in its old 
place ? I thought I had pushed it back against the 
wall, and I have no recollection of moving it again. 
It is very strange. I wish I could hear Dr. Jeremiah 
moving overhead.” 

He rested his hand upon the back of the chair. Oh ! 
it was real enough. There was no mistake about it. 

But he could have sworn he had never moved Ah ! 

what, in Heaven’s name, was that ? A simple enough 
thing, surely, to cause so much amazement and — what? 
— surely not fear — in the beholder. Only a pen lying 
upon the blotting pad, beside a sheet of paper. But 
the pen was wet, and there were fresh words added to 
those he had himself written before he fell asleep. 
“ Am I going out of my mind ? ” he thought, as he felt 
the perspiration stand upon his brow. “ Am I going 
mad, or what ? ” 


AT TWELVE OF THE CLOCK. 


185 


The sheet of paper was the one upon which he had 
written those vague and disconnected phrases, which 
had caused him so much perplexity and unprofitable 
speculation. They had been written irregularly, just 
in the same order that they had occupied on the mu- 
tilated sheet, with blank spaces between each broken 
sentence. Now each blank space had been filled in, 
and it was with perfectly indescribable sensations that 
he read the copy as it now stood : — 

“ If you have not forgotten the friend of twenty years ago, you 
will , on receiving this letter, start at once for Dover, which place 
I expect to reach to-morrow morning. There is that between us 
which I think will not allow you to deny this favour which I ask. 
I have much to say to you, and many questions to put which you 
alone can answer to my satisfaction. If you refuse I shall think, 
rightly or wrongly, that you still regard me more as the criminal 
than what I once was, the friend of your youth. J. ” 

The young man read this through. Who had written 
it ? Whose hand had completed the broken sentences, 
and given them the meaning which they had heretofore 
lacked ? Could he have done it himself, while in a state 
of somnambulism ? No ; for the handwriting was not 
his ! At a glance, he could distinguish the words which 
he had written himself. The words over which he had 
laboured and perplexed his soul. The words which 
had seemed to cast a slur upon the memory of his dead 
father — which was now removed. That which had 
been added was in another, and yet almost equally 
familiar handwriting. 

He turned the sheet over. There, on the other side, 
were those words, the last probably his father ever wrote, 
“My dear "together with date, “April 23rd.” 

He looked again at those mysterious sentences, upon 
which the ink still glistened. They were written in the 
same hand ! 


CHAPTER XXI. 


“THAT OTHER MAN. 

^T"EXT morning a party of three were assembled at 
-i-N breakfast. 

“ You don’t seem to have much of an appetite this 
morning,” remarked Dr. Cartwright, addressing his 
host, who appeared rather distraught, with a tendency 
to start when spoken to. “ How’s that? ” 

The young man replied, as he fidgeted with his knife 
and fork, “ That he didn’t seem to care to eat anything, 
somehow.” 

“Ah!” replied the doctor, briskly, “that’s a pity. 
There’s nothing like laying a good foundation for the 
day’s work. I like to see a man make his first meal a 
good one — shows he’s got a good conscience. Not that 
I wish to insinuate anything against a member of the 
present company ; but I don’t like to see you sitting 
there and only pretending to eat. Take an example 
from your sister,” casting an appreciative glance at the 
young lady from behind his spectacles. “ She doesn’t 
turn up her nose at her breakfast — a sure proof that the 
purity of her conscience is beyond all suspicion.” 

The young lady alluded to smiled at the last speaker 
and said she would trouble him for another slice of ham. 

“ And yet I remember to have heard,” remarked her 
brother, rousing himself from his abstraction with a 
perceptible effort, “ that criminals about to be hanged 
frequently make a very good breakfast, and take a 
particular interest in ordering whatever most takes 
their fancy. How do you account for that? ” 

186 


“THAT OTHER MAN * 


' 18 ' 


“ I don’t account for it at all,” was the answer, 
given with a shade of irritation. " I accept it as I do 
the Thirty-nine Articles, because it’s the easiest way 
out of the difficulty. By-the-by” — with the evident 
intention of turning the conversation,-" did you sit up 
very late last night? I thought I heard someone 
come upstairs and pass my door long after I had been 
in bed myself. Why, how nervous you seem this 
morning ! Whatever made you start like that and 
upset your coffee at such a simple question as I have 
just asked you? You see,” he continued, while the 
other tried to repair the damage he had done to the 
tablecloth and his own nether garments, "if I hadn’t 
taken it for granted that it was you, I should have 
considered it my duty to have got up and challenged 
the individual, whoever he might be. There ! never 
mind trying to mend matters; you will only make 
them worse — but I don’t like to see you so nervous 
and shaky in the morning. If I didn’t know you 

better, I should be inclined to say But never 

mind. You don’t look as though you had had a very 
good night’s rest either. No ? Why, how was that ? 
Got reading, or doing something that excited your 
brain, I suppose?” 

Ted Burritt admitted that £)r. Cartwright was — 
well, not altogether wrong in his surmise. 

" Wrong! of course not. Funny thing if I couldn’t 
understand such a simple matter as that. But you 
shouldn’t have done it, you know — a great mistake. 
By-the-by, it must have been very exciting reading to 
have such an effect upon you as that. Something very 
sensational, I suppose ? A murder or a ghost story ? 
All the usual horrors, eh ? ” 

Ted, with a peculiar look upon his face, answered 
that the doctor was right again. It had been some- 


188 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


thing very sensational — something that he found it 
impossible to tear himself away from. 

“ Oh, I know* the style of thing,” was the complacent 
reply ; “ but, just for the sake of curiosity, what was 
it ? — a ghost or a murder? ” 

“ It was ” (It was strange, the doctor thought, 

how he hesitated over the answer to this plain question.) 
“ It was both ! ” 

“ And so you sat up until the small hours to finish it 
.—woke me up out of a sound sleep — laid awake the 
greater part of the night yourself, and now can’t eat 
any breakfast ! What a piece of folly I I tell you 
what it is, young man, you’ll have to give that sort of 
thing up — it won’t do.” 

Then, starting off at a tangent. “ That reminds me 
that I had rather a strange experience myself last night. ' ' 
Both his listeners sat bolt upright, and began to. show 
signs of deep interest in what was coming. At the 
same time, they exchanged a furtive glance, which 
seemed to ask, “Is this another mystery?” “Pact, 
I assure you,” he went on. “ I dropped asleep again 
after I heard you come upstairs ; had been asleep, I sup- 
pose, about half an hour, when I woke up suddenly ” 

“ Yes, yes I go on ! ” from the other two, as he stopped. 

“ Well, as I was saying,” he continued, flattered at 
the interest and excitement he had roused, “ I woke up 
suddenly and sat up and listened.” He made a 
dramatic pause and turned from one to the other of 
the young people, who were evidently hanging upon 
his words. “ I made sure I heard it,” he proceeded, 
enjoying the effect he was producing amazingly. 

“ Heard what? ” from both his listeners, in a gasp. 
(Good heavens ! thought the young man, what could 
it have been he heard ? How extraordinary. How ). 

“ I could have taken my oath,” continued the 


“ THA T OTHER MAN .» 


189 


narrator, looking round him with a self-satisfied air, 
“ that somebody had rung the night hell ! ” 

At this climax, he was assailed by indignant remon- 
stances and exclamations of disappointment. “ Is that 
all '? What a sell ! Oh, Dr. Cartwright, I thought 
you were really going to tell us something thrilling and 
mysterious 1 ” 

“ Why, bless my soul ! ” exclaimed the doctor, “ what 
more do you want ? I tell you, I thought I heard some- 
one ring my night bell; and considering that it’s a 
good many miles away, I think that it was a very 
strange thing indeed. You don’t see anything in it ? 
Now, look here ; suppose I were to find out on my return 
that someone really did ring the night bell at the very 
moment that I thought I heard it. It was just twenty 
minutes to two, for I struck a light and looked at my 
watch. Now just suppose that someone did come and 
try to knock me up at that identical hour, perhaps you 
won’t see anything curious in that ? Of course I only 
mean in the way of a coincidence.” 

Oh, yes, they were both of them willing to acknow- 
ledge that, looking at it in that way, it might be 
regarded as something out of the common, and 
Dr. Jejjemiah, restored to his customary benignity by 
this concession, went on to say, “ I guessed who it was 
directly I heard it — or thought I did, which is pretty 
well the same thing. I said to myself ‘ That’s old 
Mrs. Hitchcock, I’l} be bound. She’s dying again, 
and I’ve a good mind not to go.’ And then I remem- 
bered where I was, and ” 

At this moment there was an interruption. A maid 
presented herself with a letter which had just come by 
hand, and gave it to her young master, stating, at the 
same time, that the bearer was waiting for an answer. 

A letter 1 and come by hand ! He started again as 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


VO 

though he had been shot, and the doctor noticed that 
his hand went up to the breast pocket of his coat, as 

though there were something there he The doctor 

shook his head as he made this observation. 

“ I don’t understand it at all,” he said to himself — 
“ and I don’t like it. Whatever reason can he have to 
jump like that on being told there’s a letter for him ? I 
must get to the bottom of this.” 

Ted Burritt took the letter held out to him, glanced 
at the superscription and tore it open. It apparently 
consisted of only a few lines, but those few lines 
seemed to afford him considerable satisfaction, judging 
by the play of his features. Indeed, to the two who 
were watching him, it seemed as though the expres- 
sion which overspread his face were almost one of 
triumph. 

“I must get to the bottom of this,” reiterated the 
doctor under his breath. “ If there is one thing I 
object to more than another, it is a mystery ; and there 
seems to be something decidedly mysterious going on 
here. I wonder whether she knows anything about it ? 
Ah ! nice girl, that ! I think more of her than ever, 
after seeing the breakfast she has eaten.” 

“ Doctor,” said his host, “ will you excuse me a 
moment ? I have to send an answer to this by the 
bearer.” 

•He spoke rapidly, and still that spirit of elation was 
perceptible in his words and actions. He seemed quite 
to have cast off that air of abstraction which had 
characterized his demeanour previously. He quitted 
the room, leaving his sister and friend tete-a-tete. 

“ Now,” said the latter to himself, “ Go it, Jeremiah! 
Now’s your chance. Make yourself agreeable for once 
in your life. But don’t forget that you were forty-four 
last birthday, and you look it, every bit. Ahem ! I 


“THAT OTHER MAN.' 


191 


suppose you are very much attached to your brother, 
Miss Burritt ? ” 

“Attached to him?” was the exclamation. “Of 
course I am ! ” 

“ Exactly so — and I’m sure it’s very much to your 
credit.” (I suppose I ought to make some allusion to 
the late accident and the loss she has sustained, he 
thought.) “ It must have been a great trial to you 
when you lost your father in that dreadful way?” he 
continued. 

“Oh, terrible ! terrible ! ” turning pale and clasping 
her hands together. “ Oh, don’t speak of it ! ” 

“ I won’t,” was the prompt reply. “ At the same 
time, but for that lamentable event, I should not have 
made your brother’s acquaintance or your own,” and 
he bowed solemnly across the table. “ I have yet to 
make Mrs. Burritt’s. I trust that she will be able to 
receive me some time to-day? She is an invalid, I 
presume? ” 

“ Hardly that,” she answered. “ But since my 
father’s death, she seems to care for nothing. Not 
even” — in tones of commiseration — “ not even for her 
medicine, and she always used to take such an interest 
in that. But now she’ll miss two or three doses of the 
mixture, and forget all about her pills, unless I remind 
her of them.” 

Dr. Cartwright shook his head, as though he hardly 
knew what to say in such an extreme case. “ I 
wonder whether there really is anything the matter 
with the woman ? ” he mused. “ That reminds me,” he 
went on. “ Your brother seems hardly to be himself. 
I don’t remember that he was as nervous and shaky, 
as he appears to be now, when I first met him — though 
he had a lot to try him, and ” 

She put her finger upon her lips and gave a nervous 


192 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


glance at the door before she answered, sinking her 
voice to a whisper. 

“ He has been like that ever since the funeral. He 
goes and shuts himself up for hours, and I know that 
he is always thinking of that man who killed my father, 
and planning how he can hunt him down and bring 
him to the gallows.” She shuddered and went on. “ I 
do not know whether it is very wicked of me, but it 
seems to me that since my father is dead, it is no use 
killing another man — taking another life will not help 
to restore the first, and I wish Ted would not talk as 
he does about the duty of revenging him. I am sure 
my father would not wish it ; but if I say anything to 
him about it, he quotes Scripture at me. And it’s 
horrid to have Scripture quoted at you, because you 
can’t answer back. He never used to be like this, you 
know, it is only since the accident. Oh, that one 
journey to Dover ! — what a difference it has made in 
our lives ! My father dead, my mother confined to her 
bed ever since, and my brother thinking about nothing 
but hanging someone to make up for it ! Somehow, I 
don’t know how it is, and I wouldn’t have Ted know 
it for the world, but ” 

She paused, as though half-scared at what she was 
about to say ; but, apparently reassured by the doctor’s 
face, continued: “ I don’t mind telling you, because I 
know I can trust you ; but ” — leaning across the table 
towards him — ■“ I can’t help feeling sorry sometimes 
for — that other man ! ” 

Dr. Jeremiah blushed. The first time for the last 
twenty years. “ You’re an old fool ! ” he apostrophized 
himself. “ You ought to be ashamed of yourself ; and 
so you are, but you won’t own it ; and the best thing you 
can do is to go back home by the first train to-morrow.” 

Then out loud : “ My dear young lady 1 I agree with 


“THAT OTHER MAN” 


193 


every word you have said, and am much flattered by 
the confidence you have shown in me. But that is a 
very headstrong young man — though a thoroughly good 
fellow, for all that — and I’m afraid it’s no use talking 
to him. I was the same at his age,” he continued, “ but 
at forty-four one sees things differently.” 

“ Are you forty-four, Dr. Cartwright ? ” she inquired, 
innocently. “ Then you are not quite a quarter of a cen- 
tury older than I am. I shall be twenty next month.” 

“ I wish I hadn’t been in such a devil of a hurry to 
be born,” thought the doctor; “I wish I had waited 
another ten or fifteen years or so. I wish she’d got 
red hair and a squint, or that I was cut out after a 
different pattern myself.” 

Later in the morning he paid a visit to the lady of 
the house. She sat up in bed to receive him, with 
her Indian shawl over her shoulders, and allowed him 
to feel her pulse in the friendliest possible way. But 
when Dr. Cartwright had left the room, he shook his 
head, and remarked to himself, “ Unless I’m very much 
mistaken, that woman is dying of just nothing at all.” 

“ Doctor,” said Ted Burritt, meeting him at the foot 
of the stairs, “ I am afraid I shall have to leave you for 
an hour or two — a little matter of business, you know. 
Obliged to attend to it myself. My sister will look after 
you until my return. Shall be back to lunch. So, good- 
bye for the present, and pray make yourself at home.” 

“I’m doing it,” said the doctor. “ Nice girl that sister 
of yours. Don’t hurry back on my account. I sha’n’t 

miss you in the least ! He’s off ! I’ll just go and 

No he isn’t. Why, what’s he coming back for ? For- 
gotten something?” 

“I’ve dropped a letter — the one I received this 
morning. I thought I put it in my pocket, but it isn’t 
there. I suppose you haven’t seen anything of the kind 

13 


194 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


lying about ? ” — he cast a hasty glance round him, but, 
not seeing it — “ Never mind,” he said. “After all, it is 
not of much consequence, and I know the contents. 
Good-bye again. I must really be off now, or I shall 
be late for my appointment.” 

The door banged again and he was gone. A few 
moments later his sister crossed the hall. 

“I wonder what the doctor’s doing?” she said. 
“It is very rude of us to leave him to himself in this 
way. What’s that?” 

Her eye had been caught by something white, lying 
on the mat at her feet. She picked it up and saw 
that it was a letter, the contents of which she could 
not help perceiving. They merely consisted of a couple 
of lines, as follows — 

“ Dear Sib, — The luggage has been claimed. Can you call 
upon me at 11 o’clock this morning ? 

u Yours obediently, John Sharp.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE ADVERTISEMENT IN THE “ STANDARD.” 

D R. CARTWRIGHT did not return home by the 
first train next day. The mere mention, on 
his part, of such a purpose being scouted as prepos- 
terous by his entertainers. 

“ I thought you spoke of three days at the least as 
the length of your visit,” said his host; “and now 
you try to sneak off at the end of one. If .you do, I 
shall think that you have taken a dislike to us — that 
we have offended you in some way . Besides ’ ’ — speaking 
seriously — “ I want to have a long talk with you to-day, 
if you don’t mind.” 

“ Mind ! ” said the doctor, “ it’s just what I should 
like. I should have proposed it myself before now, 
only I thought you seemed rather to fight shy of it.” 

“I!” exclaimed the other; “not in the least. 
Why—” 

He stopped abruptly, and the doctor, looking up to 
see why he did not finish his sentence, remained 
staring at him in blank amazement. 

“Whatever’s up now?” he asked himself, rather 
irritably. “ Really, our young friend seems to be 
taking leave of his senses altogether.” 

They were again at breakfast when this occurred, 
and the morning paper had just been brought in. Ted 
Burritt had been glancing over its columns in a care- 
less way, with the air of one who feels certain that 
they are not likely to contain anything to interest him, 
when, turning the sheet, his attention was accidentally 
195 13 — 2 


196 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


caught and held by something which appeared among 
the advertisements. The very last department, one 
would have thought, to have afforded him any enter- 
tainment. Whatever it was, there he sat, completely 
absorbed by what he saw — his eyes fixed, his mouth 
slightly open, and a vivid spot, caused by excitement 
or some other feeling, on each cheek. 

“ Anything very remarkable in the paper this morn- 
ing?” asked the doctor, with an affectation of indif- 
ference ; but noticing every change in the countenance 
before him from behind his spectacles. This remark 
recalled the other to himself. He seemed annoyed that 
he had betrayed his feelings so openly, and crumpling 
up the paper, threw it on one side before answering : 
“ Nothing whatever. There is absolutely no news 
worthy of the name ! ” 

“ Now,” thought the doctor, “ is he deliberately tell- 
ing an untruth, or what ? Oh, certainly ! I must get 
to the bottom of this!” Aloud he merely observed, 
“ There never does seem to be much in the papers now- 
adays. Now, when I was in the 47th, etc., etc.” Not- 
withstanding this last remark, he did not forget to take 
an early opportunity of examining the paper. 

“ I wish I had noticed which page it was,” he said 
to himself, as he ran his finger down each column in 
succession. ‘Spanish Finance.’ ‘Fashionable Ar- 
rangements.’ ‘ Agricultural Prospects.’ ‘ Sporting 
Intelligence.’ It couldn’t have been any of those. 
Perhaps it was something in the ‘ Police News ’ ? Let 
me see ! ‘ Ferocious Driving.’ ‘ Assault on Two Police 
Constables.’ ‘ A Lunatic in Westminster Abbey — 
Attempted Suicide.’ ‘ Charge of Bigamy Against a 
Clergyman,’ and the usual ‘ Wife-beating.’ A nice as- 
sortment ! But I don’t see anything likely to account 
for the boy’s peculiar behaviour. Now I come to think 


THE ADVT. IN THE “ STANDARD * 


197 


of it, I believe that it was the advertisement sheet he 
was examining at the time. Suppose we try that? 

‘ Articles for Sale.’ ‘ Situations Wanted.’ * Situations 
Vacant.’ 1 Land, Houses and Shops to Let.’ ‘ Mis- 
cellaneous.’ Oh ! I can’t wade through all these. Be- 
sides, how could there be anything at all of an in- 
teresting or exciting nature among the * Apartments 
to Let,’ or * Situations to Be Filled Up ’ ? It’s absurd to 
think of such a thing ! I could have understood it,” 
he mused, “ if it had been the ‘Agony Column’, but the 
Advertisements ! I must have been mistaken, and yet 
it isn’t often that anyone can succeed in deceiving 
Jeremiah Cartwright, M.D., Surgeon, etc., Late of the 
47th. I wonder where he is now, and when we are to 
have that long talk he spoke of? Oh I here you are, ” 
as the door opened. “ Think of the devil, you know, 

and Hullo ! you look very much excited about 

something 1 What is it ? ” 

“ I am excited,” was the answer. “And you’ll be 
excited, too, when you have heard all I have to say.” 

Dr. Jeremiah stared at the young man in astonish- 
ment, and further expressed his feelings by a whistle. 
Then, “All right,” he said, “fire away and astonish 
me as much as you like.” 

“ Not here,” he answered ; “ I want you to come 
with me to the room that was my father’s study, and 
where we shall be sure of not being disturbed, as I 
keep the key myself, and never allow anyone to enter it.” 

They crossed the hall ; Ted unlocked the door ; they 
entered, and he locked it again behind them. 

“What’s that for?” asked the doctor, as he heard 
the key turn in the lock. 

“ I want to prevent all possibility of interruption,” 
was the reply. 

“ Bless me 1 ” exclaimed his friend, “ you must have 


198 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


some very extraordinary statement to make. Have you 
found the other man?” 

“ That is what I am going to tell you, and that is why 
I have brought you here.” 

Dr. Cartwright looked round him with considerable 
interest. He noticed the dust, now lying thicker than 
ever upon every object, small and great. He also 
noticed the worn leather chair still standing before the 
writing table, and other tokens of a dead and gone 
presence. “ Nothing been allowed to be touched,” he 
murmured. “ My young friend has allowed sentiment 
to usurp the place of brooms and brushes. All very 
well in theory, but unpleasant as regards actual prac- 
tice.” He sniffed two or three times, obviously in dis- 
approval of the stale, musty atmosphere of the room. 
“ I suppose I mustn’t suggest opening the window and 
letting in a little fresh air ? — that would be sacrilege ; 
but I never was much of a one for sentiment, particu- 
larly when accompanied by stuffiness.” He dusted 
a chair with his pocket handkerchief before ven- 
turing to sit down. Then he took off his spectacles 
and polished them carefully. “ Now,” he said, as he 
settled himself, “ I’m quite ready to be astonished.” 

“ You asked me a moment or two back whether I 
had found the other man ? ” said Ted — “ meaning, of 
course, the murderer. I have.” 

“ Quite sure ? ” said the doctor, still preserving his 
equanimity. “ You know, it doesn’t do to make mis- 
takes in a business of this kind. People are apt to 
turn nasty if falsely accused, and we are all of us,” he 
concluded, piously, crossing one leg over the other, 
“ we are all of us liable to err.” 

“ I will give you the whole story from the day we 
parted. You know all that went before.” 

He began with the account of the burnt letter ; and 


THE ADVT. IN THE “STANDARD” 


199 


the little doctor listened with an interest he found it 
impossible to disguise. “ It’s a sad pity it should have 
been so nearly destroyed,” was the first remark he 
made, “ because, of course, it is impossible to tell now 
what the rest of the contents might have been.” 

“ Wait a bit,” was the impetuous answer, “ there is 
more to come still.” He told him about the visit to 
the detective, and the detective’s opinion of the matter. 
Then, with a little hesitation in his manner, he related 
his strange experience on the night of his return ; the 
voice which he heard telling him where to look, and 
the discovery of the photograph in the very place indi- 
cated. Having reached this point in his narrative he 
paused to judge of the effect it had produced upon his 
hearer. 

Dr. Cartwright had listened to it all with his most 
professional manner, but refused to commit himself to 
any opinion at all at this stage of the proceedings. He 
shut his mouth very tight, as though afraid lest some- 
thing compromising might leak out, uncrossed and re- 
crossed his legs and waved his hand as an indication 
to the speaker to continue. 

He did so, but his words came more slowly now, as 
though he were approaching a crisis concerning the 
manner of the reception of which he was rather dubious. 
And so he brought his narrative down to the night 
before last. He described his visit to the room in 
which they now were, after everybody had retired to 
rest. How he had racked his brain once more over 
the hopelessness of his task ; how he became tired 
and threw himself down upon the sofa to rest ; how 

he dreamed a dream ; and how, waking, he saw 

How he refused to credit the evidence of his eye-sight ; 
how he found the pen, which no other hand had 
touched since his father had last laid it down, wet 


2C0 


THE FATAL REQUEST . 


with ink ; and — crowning mystery of all — how the im- 
perfect copy of the letter, which he had made himself 
from the remains of the original, had been completed 
and filled up in another hand. 

Haying concluded all this, he flung himself into a 
chair (for all this time he had remained standing) with 
the air of one who has relieved his conscience of a 
heavy load and now waits for the verdict. It was 
some time before it came. The doctor withdrew him- 
self into ambush, as it were, behind his spectacles. 
Then he opened his mouth — “ A remarkable co ” 

“No, hang it alll” was the interruption; “don’t 
let us have any more coincidences ; I’m sick of the very 
sound of the word. Call it anything you like but that.” 

“ Then, my dear boy, if you won’t allow it to be a 
coincidence, there’s nothing else for me to fall back 
upon but the supposition that you dreamt it.” 

“ I guessed you’d say that,” was the rejoinder. “ I 
said it myself when I first caught sight of the figure ; 
but when it raised its head and looked at me; and 
when I found the chair, which I had pushed back 
against the wall, standing in its old position in front of 
the table ; when I found the pen, which I swear I had 
not used myself, and the paper with the unfinished 
sentences, the meaning of which was so obscure, all 
completed and the sense made perfect, even you could 
hardly expect me to believe that it was only a dream.” 

Dr. Cartwright shook his head. “But what else 
could it be ? Come now, after all ” — regaining confi- 
dence as he proceeded — “ what was there any more in 
that than in my dreaming I heard the night bell? 
Depend upon it” — cheerfully — •“there was some 
connection between my dream and yours. We 
both ate something that disagreed with us— per- 
haps it was the lamb and spinach? I believe I am 


THE ADVT. IN THE “ STANDARD .’ 


201 


not mistaken in thinking that we did have lamb and 
spinach ? — and we each dreamt of the subject which 
most occupied our minds at the time. I don’t re- 
member thinking about the night bell, but no doubt I 
must have done so at some time during the evening. 

So you see, after all, it was just a co ” 

“ But you didn’t see the night bell, and you didn’t 
recognize the person who rang it,” was the interrup- 
tion. “And I tell you, I’ve got the very copy of the 
letter. I’ll show it you directly, but I want to convince 
you without that proof. Now, Doctor, just give me 
your private opinion on this matter.” 

“ Ah, there you’ve got me,” was the doctor’s answer. 
“ My private opinion is, that there may be something in 
it though how much I decline to say. I’ve known a 
patient with delirium tremens," he added, speculatively, 
“who declared that he saw boa-constrictors twisted 
round each of the bed posts — it was a four post bed- 
stead, too — and white mice and blackbeetles crawling 
up my waistcoat. I never contradicted him. Surely 
if a man with delirium tremens thought he saw all that, 
a little licence may be allowed to others. My profes- 
sional opinion, however” — in quite another tone of 
voice — “ is, that the sooner you hand this room over to 
the housemaid the better. Meanwhile, suppose you 
show me the original document that was burnt ? ” 

The young man produced it from the same secret 
hiding-place as before, and laid it out before him 
without a word. There was silence for some moments, 
which was only broken by the sound of the doctor’s 
voice, as he repeated the words to himself, as he suc- 
ceeded in deciphering them. This was not accomplished 
without much wrinkling of the forehead, pursing of the 
lips, and other symptoms of deep mental application. 
At the end of five minutes he gave it up. 


202 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ It’s of no use puzzling my brains and injuring my 
eyesight over this any longer. And I’m afraid to draw 
my breath for fear I should blow it all away. Let me 
see your copy of the letter — that mysterious copy 
which the ghostly hand filled in for you. I suppose 
you have kept it under lock and key ever since ? ” 

“I have done better than that,” was the answer. 
“ I have carried it about my person ever since. Locks 
may be tampered with, and keys are sometimes lost ; 
whereas, so long as I keep it about me it is impossible 
for anyone to tamper with it without my knowledge.” 

“ I suppose you have some specimens of your late 
father’s handwriting that I may compare it with?” 
said the doctor. “ Not,” he added, in a kindly voice, 
“ that I cast the slightest imputation on your veracity 
— only, you can’t expect me to give way all at once. 
Besides, just think if it got about? Why, I should 
have half the boys in the parish dressing up in sheets, 
in the hope of giving me a fright 1 As it is, didn’t I 
catch Jimmy Jessop with his mother’s best tablecloth 
and the stable lantern, in the hope of scaring somebody 
out of their wits, not so very long ago? ” Then, with 

barely suppressed chuckle, “Haven’t I done the very 
same thing myself when I was a boy ? And now for 
that letter.” 

His friend put his hand to his breast pocket and 
produced an envelope. 

“ This is it,” he said. “ As to comparing it with any 
other writing, it happens that, without noticing it, I 
made the copy upon the back of a sheet of paper upon 
which my father had written the first words of a letter 
— a letter, which, for some reason or other, was never 
finished.” 

The doctor took the envelope which was fastened 
down, opened it and drew out the inclosure. He un- 


THE ADVT. IN THE “STANDARD. 1 


203 


folded the sheet of paper and prepared to examine the 
contents. As he held it, the other man could see on 
the outer page the date, “ April 23rd,” and the words, 

“ My dear ” He watched the doctor’s face. He 

saw its expression change from interest to bewilder- 
ment, and felt that he was triumphing over the scepticism 
which had possessed his friend at the outset. “ You 
notice the difference in the two handwritings in which 
the copy is made?” he asked. "‘You observe that 
part of a sentence is written in one and the rest in 
another ? ” 

“Well, I can’t quite say that I do,” was the unex- 
pected reply. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Why, it’s plain enough. Look here 1 ” The doctor 
held the sheet of paper out towards him. 

He saw the broken, incoherent sentences which he 
had himself written. He saw and recognized his own 
handwriting. The other had disappeared / 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


DR. JEREMIAH IS ASTONISHED. 

OR a moment there was a dead silence. Then the 



JL 1 young man, still holding the sheet of paper in his 
hand, dropped into the nearest chair, and the same 
words fell from his lips which he had uttered before under 
somewhat similar circumstances — “Am I going mad?” 

“ Not at all,” was the cheerful response. “ On the 
contrary, I should be inclined to say that you are con- 
siderably saner now than you were a little while ago. 
Don’t you see?” he went on, clapping him on the back. 
“You dreamt it; that was all. You acknowledge 
falling asleep on that sofa yonder, and when you thought 
you were awake you were still dreaming, and were most 
unnecessarily annoyed with me, a few moments back, 
when I ventured to suggest that most natural solution 
of the problem.” 

The other raised a haggard face towards him. “But 
how about the writing which I saw, and of which, even 
though it has now most mysteriously disappeared, I can 
recall every word ? The writing which made everything 
plain, which had, until then, so sorely perplexed me ? 
See ” — and he seized pen and paper, and began rapidly 
to cover the latter with his own bold handwriting, 
without betraying the least hesitation or effort of 
memory — “ this was the letter as it appeared to me 
when I first read it two nights ago 1 Compare it with 
the original document, which was burnt, and you will 
see that the copy, as it now stands, exactly fits in with 
those broken sentences, and restores the sense which 
otherwise is wanting.” 


204 


DR. JEREMIAH IS ASTONISHED. 


205 


Dr. Cartwright compared the two documents as 
required, and was compelled to acknowledge the truth 
of this last remark. “It certainly is very strange,” he 
allowed, “ a very peculiar co — that is, I should say, a 
most remarkable circumstance. But, at the same time, 
there is an explanation possible.” 

“ And that is? ” 

“That in your sleep this arrangement suggested 
itself to your mind so forcibly, that you were able to 
retain the impression on waking, and, what you 
thought you read with your outward eyes was, in 
actual fact, only visible to those of your imagination.” 

The young man gave an impatient sigh. “ Have it 
your own way. Of course, I can’t expect you to 
accept my statement as the truth. But nothing that 
you can say will ever convince me that it was not my 
father who appeared to me and showed me the way 
out of the difficulty, and that in spite of all traces of 
the writing I saw so plainly having disappeared ! ” 

“My dear fellow,” said the doctor, “heaven forbid 
that I should attempt to destroy that conviction which 
you hold, if it is any source of comfort to you. Let 
us then both agree to maintain our own, without 
seeking to disturb the other’s opinion. But, for all 
that, I should like, if you have no objection, to submit 
the origin of this discussion to two tests, and, if you 
have a microscope anywhere about the premises and 
can also procure a lamp, as there is no fire in the 
grate, we can proceed with the investigation at once.” 

Both articles were forthcoming with very little 
delay. Dr. Cartwright took the sheet of paper in one 
hand and the microscope in the other. “You are 
prepared to swear that this is the same sheet on which 
you declare that you found traces of your father’s 
handwriting side by side with your own ? ” 


200 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ I am. I placed it in the envelope from which yon 
yourself took it, a moment ago, and fastened it up 
then and there. There has been, I am sorry to say it, 
no possibility of deception.” 

The doctor examined the blank spaces on the paper 
carefully through the microscope, then shook his head. 
“ There is no sign of any writing but your own. But 
let us try the ordeal by fire. We all know that there 
is such a thing as invisible ink, and, under the circum- 
stances, it seems only natural that a disembodied 
spirit should employ that description of copying fluid.” 
He passed the paper backwards and forwards close to 
the flame of the lamp and subjected it thoroughly to 
this test. But except that, in one place, it became 
slightly scorched, there was no result — the blank 
spaces remained as blank as ever. 

“I suppose you still stick to your original opinion 
in spite of this?” asked the doctor. 

“ I do,” was the answer, given most emphatically. 

“I thought you would,” answered his friend. “I 
never met with such an obstinate young fellow in all 
my born days. (I don’t altogether dislike him for it,” 
he remarked, under his breath. “ Give me someone 
who will say a thing and stick to it, whether it’s right 
or wrong. If there is one thing I dislike more than 
another, it is shilly shallying.”) 

“ I suppose,” he continued, “ that now you have told 
me all there is to be told?” He rose from his chair. 
“ I believe it was settled that we should do the Academy 
and one or two other places to-day? ” 

“Keep your seat,” said the young man; “I have 
not done with you yet. I told you I was going to 
astonish you, did I not? ” 

“You did,” was the answer, “and so you have — in 
a measure.” 


DR. JEREMIAH IS ASTONISHED. 


207 


“But I mean to astonish you further before I have 
finished,” was the cool rejoinder. “All this is only 
intended to lead up to and prepare your mind for some- 
thing else.” 

“ Bless me ! ” exclaimed the doctor. “ What ! 
haven’t we got out of the wood yet? Are there still 
more mysteries to follow? Why, I never knew any- 
thing like it ! And to talk about preparing my mind, 
too, in that way ! The impudence of these young men ! 
Well, then, now you’ve prepared my mind, as you call 
it, why don’t you go on and astonish me still further, 
according to your promise, or threat ? ” 

“Because, before I do so, I want your solemn pro- 
mise — your word of honour to the effect that you will 
reveal to no one that which I am about to tell you.” 

The doctor fairly gasped. “ What on earth have you 
been up to now ? Oh, you needn’t shake your head at 
me ! I know it’s a scrape of some sort ! But, there ! 
I’ll do my best to pull you out — for the sake of that 
nice little sister of yours.” 

“ I think,” said Ted, “ that you once reproved me 
for rushing to conclusions. Aren’t you rather in- 
dulging in that sort of thing yourself ? ** 

“Eh? What? Then it isn’t 1 mean, you 

haven’t ? I’m glad to hear it — very glad. But you 

alarmed me, you really did, with * your solemn promise ’ 
and ‘ your word of honour.’ Whenever a young fellow 
begins by demanding a promise of secrecy, I always 
make up my mind he’s in a mess — and a devil of a 
mess, too ! ” 

“ I’m sorry it should have struck you in that light,” 
said Ted ; “ but the statement I am going to make has 
nothing to do with debts and difficulties. It is of a 
widely different character. At the same time, I am 
willing to admit that it may surprise — even shock you. 


208 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


But, for all that, I am going to trust you, and you alone 
with it.” There was something in the words, as well 
as in his manner of saying them, which could hardly 
fail to produce an effect upon the hearer. 

“ My dear boy,” said Dr. Cartwright, in a way 
almost paternal, “it is very nice of you to say that, 
and I’ll stand by you whatever it may be, but — I’m 
afraid — I know you’re going to do something rash. 
Now, take my advice and think it over first.” 

“ I have done nothing else since I first caught sight 

of the — I mean, since it first occurred to me But, 

of course, you do not understand my meaning.” 

“I think I understand this much,” answered the 
doctor, speaking very seriously, “ that the revelation, 
whatever it is, has something to do with your father’s 
untimely end. Am I right?” 

Ted made a motion in the affirmative. 

“ Ah! still harping on that same string — that same 
scheme of vengeance. Still determined not to spare ” 

He was interrupted. “ Whoso sheddeth man’s blood 
by—” 

“ Yes, yes, of course. I know all about that,” the 
doctor hastened to remark. “ I don’t want you to 
quote Scripture at me — a most objectionable habit 
And, anyhow, that verse won’t do. There was very little 
blood shedding. As you know yourself, the bleeding 
was very slight ; and, even if it had been otherwise, I’m 
not going to have verses of Scripture hurled at my head. 
I have noticed, too, that when a man begins to quote 
extracts from the Bible he is not very sure of his 
argument. However” — suddenly turning round and 
taking another view of the matter — “you are quite 
right, of course. It isn’t likely a cold blooded, 
cowardly murderer is to be allowed to get off scot 
free. But why must you mix yourself up in it? It’s 


DR. JEREMIAH IS ASTONISHED. 


209 


a nasty business ! Besides, how can you expect to 
succeed where Scotland Yard has failed? There’s 
conceit for you, if you like ! ” 

“ Because,” was the passionate reply, “ I feel that 
I am the proper person to undertake this duty! 
Would you have me sit tamely by and do nothing? 
But I have another reason still. I firmly believe that 
I am the one appointed to hunt the traitor down. I 
believe, implicitly believe, that these signs and tokens 
which have appeared to me, all indicate the same, and 
are sent to encourage me in my self-appointed task. I 
believe, too, that unless I devote myself to this pur- 
pose, the murderer will escape, and the crime which 
he committed be left unavenged ! ” 

“It’s no earthly use arguing with a man in that 
frame of mind,” considered the doctor; “the only 
thing is to humour him.” 

“And how do you expect to accomplish this?” he 
asked. “ Even if you are on the right track at last — 
and it strikes me that, after all, your evidence on that 
point is rather shaky — how are you going to bring the 
guilt home to him? You can’t convict a man on the 
evidence of his name alone, or because he happens to 
leave his luggage unclaimed, or for half a dozen other 
reasons, each of which seems sufficient for you, but 
which would probably go a very little way towards 
convincing a jury of your fellow-countrymen ? (I must 
do all I can to discourage him,” in an aside, “and 
show the weakness of his case — though I’m no lawyer, 
thank heaven ! But if I can only prevent him from 
doing anything rash, or ruining himself over the busi- 
ness, I will.) “ You have got to bring his guilt home 
to him, I repeat ; and how are you going to do that, I 
want to know? ” 

“ That is the very thing I’m going to tell you, as 

14 


210 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


soon as you have given me your word to keep the 
secret. Though I must admit that the plan I have 
formed — which seemed to reveal itself to me in that 
sudden, miraculous manner ; for it was neither more 
nor less than a miracle that my eye should have been 
caught by that one brief announcement, among all the 
hundreds of others — has yet to be developed. It will 
require a vast amount of consideration and, to tell the 
truth, of dissimulation to carry it through successfully. 
It may even fail at the commencement ; in which case I 
shall merely be where I was before, and immediately set 
to work to form another. But — of course you will laugh 
at the folly of the idea — I have a conviction that it 
will not fail ; else why should I have been made to 
catch sight of those few lines when I was not seeking 
anything of the kind? I must appear to be talking 
nonsense, but I will explain all. Where is the morn- 
ing paper?” 

“I believe I left it in the other room,” said the 
doctor ; “I was looking at it myself when you came 
upon me just now.” 

“ I will fetch it in a second.” And he quitted the 
room. 

“ Now,” said the doctor, as he was left alone, “ I 
wonder what next ? What a holiday I’m having ! I 
feel as though I were in the front row of the gallery, 
and waiting for the curtain to go up. Let me see, 
we’ve got a murder, a ghost and a private detective in 
the programme already; I wonder what the next 
sensational item will be ? Ah, here he comes with the 
newspaper.” 

Ted Burritt re-entered the room with the article in 
question under his arm. “By-the-by,” he said to 
the doctor, “ you have not given me your promise yet.” 

“Haven’t I? I thought I had. Well, I give it you 


DR. JEREMIAH IS ASTONISHED. 


211 


now ; and when Jeremiah Cartwright makes a promise 
he generally keeps it. So your secret, whatever it is, 
will be quite safe in my hands.” 

“ I know it,” was the answer, given with every sign 
of confidence. “And now read that.” He handed 
him the paper, which was folded into small compass, 
and pointed to a certain paragraph. 

Dr. Cartwright brought the gold-rimmed spectacles 
to bear upon it ; took them off, polished them afresh 
and tried again. Then, giving way to hopeless per- 
plexity, he said, “ You must have made a mistake. 
This ” — pointing to the portion indicated, and which 
only consisted of some three or four lines, “ this can’t 

possibly concern you in any way. Why, it’s an ” 

The young man drew near to him and uttered a few 
words. 

The effect upon the doctor was instantaneous and re- 
markable. He stumbled backwards against a chair, 
and holding on to it with one hand, gasped — 

“ What ? — you!” 

Receiving no answer but a motion of the head in 
reply, he subsided into the chair, and, taking out his 
handkerchief, wiped his forehead. Then he spoke 
again — “ Will somebody kindly tell me whether I’m 
on my head or on my heels, or which side of me’s 
uppermost ? ” 

No notice being taken of this moving request, he 
drew a deep breath and remarked, firmly and emphati- 
cally, “ Madness, utter madness ! ” 

“ I was afraid you would take it like that,” was the 

answer, “ but when you consider the opportunities ” 

“ Madness ! ” repeated the doctor again, more em- 
phatically still. “Blit,” he went on, “you’re a very 
headstrong young man and I know that to argue with 
you on the point would only involve useless expendi- 

14 — 2 


212 


THE FATAL REQUEST 


ture of breath on my part, to say nothing of probable 
loss of temper on both sides, so I won’t attempt it.” 

“ But you’re not angry with me, doctor. You don’t 
mean to give me up entirely because of this, do you? ” 

“Angry with you, you confoundedly insinuating 
scoundrel ! — What would be the good of that ? As to 
giving you up, I’ll never do that till you’re on your 
death-bed.” 

“ Then shake hands on it.” 

“I should like to shake you," was the remark, as 
the invitation was complied with, “if I thought it 
would get any of the obstinacy out of you. But — well, 
upon my word, you have succeeded in astonishing me 
this time, and no mistake 1 ” 


CHAPTEE XXIY. 


THE GIRL WITH THE CORNFLOWERS. 

T HE visit to the Academy at first seemed inclined 
to be rather a failure. 

“What do you think of that picture?” asked May 
Burritt, directing Dr’’. Cartwright’s attention to a canvas 
which represented a “ Venetian Scene.” 

“Madness!” was the paralyzing reply; “simple 
madness ! ” 

She stared at him in astonishment. “ That’s the 
second time you have answered me in that way. Do 
you really mean it ? I think it’s a lovely picture 1 ” 

“ So it is, so it is,” the doctor answered, correcting 
himself in a great hurry, and bringing his spectacles to 
bear upon it. All at once his features became over- 
clouded. “Look at that arm ! ” he exclaimed, in accents 
of deep disgust; “the one the fellow’s got round the 
girl’s neck. Disgraceful ! ” 

Miss Burritt again gave way to surprise. “ Keally,” 
she stammered, “it never occurred to me like that. 
Surely, surely there’s nothing very improper in that?” 

“Improper?” repeated Dr. Jeremiah. “My dear 
young lady, it’s worse than improper — it’s out of 
drawing ! ” 

“ It’s by a very celebrated artist,” she ventured to 
remark, as she referred to the catalogue — “ an E.A. 
and ” 

“ He may be all the letters in the alphabet,” inter- 
rupted the doctor, giving way to professional indig- 
nation, “ but he has no business to trifle with the laws 
213 


214 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


of anatomy in that way. I’m not altogether pleased 
with that leg,” singling out another member ; “ but that 
arm won’t do at all, sir, won’t do at all ! By-the-by, 
where was it your brother said he’d meet us? ” 

“ He didn’t appoint any particular meeting-place. 
He said he should be sure to find us out. What a pity 
he couldn’t come with us ! He said he had an appoint- 
ment. He’s always having appointments now ; but 
never says who they’re with, and he never mentioned 
a word about this one until it was time to start. Oh, 
what a pretty girl ! ” 

This last remark had reference to a young lady who 
passed them at that moment, escorted by a tall, elderly 
gentleman, presumably her father. She had masses 
of black hair dressed to perfection, a glowing com- 
plexion, fine eyes, and wore a blue gown and a straw 
hat, wreathed with cornflowers. As she passed close 
by them she was heard to remark that she would 
“rather have a strawberry ice at that moment than all 
the pictures in the world.” 

“ Wasn’t she sweetly pretty?” May exclaimed again, 
as soon as the object of her genuine admiration was 
out of ear-shot. 

“ Passable,” was the indifferent rejoinder. “ I don’t 
care for black hair myself,” with a sidelong glance of 
approval at his companion’s fairer locks. “ I knew a 
woman once with black hair, who poisoned a husband 
and two children with an apple pie flavoured with 
strychnine; and the only remark she made, when 
asked why she did it, was, ‘ that there was luck in odd 
numbers.’ She was a good looking woman in her way, 
too, I remember,” he added, “ and is at present an 
inmate of a large boarding establishment, where she 
will remain during her Majesty’s pleasure.” 

“How dreadful! ” was the comment on this brief 


THE GIRL WITH THE CORNFLOWERS. 215 


biographical sketch. ‘ ‘ But you don’t really mean to say 
that it had anything to do with the colour of her hair?” 

“ Well, perhaps not,” he answered, reflectively. “ In 
fact, as it happened, it came out at the trial that it was 
originally carrotty, and she dyed it, and the counsel 
for the defence tried to prove that it was the stuff she 
rubbed on her head that made her insane. At anyrate, 
she escaped being hanged, but, for all that, I’ll never 
marry a woman with black hair.” 

“But I thought you said that it wasn’t naturally 
black — that it was red and she dyed it? ” 

“It comes to the same thing,” was the impartial 
reply. “ There was another woman down our way, 
who subscribed to a burial club, and then hit her hus- 
band on the head with the coal hammer, because, as 
she said, * She wasn’t going to pay the money for no- 
thing ! ’ She was sandy, with white eyelashes. I’ll 
never marry a woman with sandy hair, or white eye- 
lashes.” 

“What coloured hair do you like, then, Doctor?” 
she inquired. 

“ Brown,” he answered, without a second’s hesitation, 
accompanying the speech with the same sidelong glance 
as before, “light brown, with just the suspicion of a 
wave in it — but no papers or curling-tongs. Hullo ! 
here’s our friend I ” as Ted Burritt appeared, making 
his way towards them through the crowd. It might 
have been noticed that the latter, as he approached, 
held his handkerchief so as to conceal the lower part 
of his face. 

“What the dickens has he been up to now?” the 
doctor asked himself, as he observed this manoeuvre. 

“Why! — no — yes — I do believe he’s been and ” 

He caught his eye at this moment, and a look of deep 
meaning passed between them. 


216 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ Toothache?” said the young man, in answer to his 
sister’s inquiry. “ Well, yes ; that is to say, the merest 
twinge.” And he actually blushed as he made this 
innocent excuse. 

“Ha!” was the doctor’s mental comment. “The 
first falsehood ! And I’m glad to see that it seems to 
stick in his throat.” He moved to his side, and again 
that look passed between them. 

“ You see I have taken the first step,” Ted whispered 
in his friend’s ear, under the pretence of consulting the 
catalogue. 

“ And you’re repenting it already, no doubt? ” 

“ Not I,” was the confident reply. “ The next thing,” 
he continued, in the same low tone, “ I shall have to 
do, will be to get myself a proper rig-out. It would 
never do to present myself in these clothes,” with a 
dissatisfied glance at the superior cut and style of his 
present garments. 

“ Something ready made,” he murmured to himself, 
with an irrepressible shudder at the thought. 

“ But what on earth are you going to do about a ?” 

The last word which the doctor uttered was lost. 

“ That will be all right. I’ve been to see Sharp. 
That was the reason why I was obliged to leave you, 
you know. In fact, I’ve just come straight from 
his place, and he thinks it can be arranged.” 

“You have informed him, then? And what is his 
opinion on the subject? ” 

“He thinks it a very good plan on the whole, but 
risky.” 

“ Bisky ! ” echoed the doctor, unconsciously raising 
his voice ; “I should think it was risky ! Anything 
more harebrained — anything more preposterous I 

never Ah, yes, to be sure!” as he became aware 

that Miss Burritt was regarding them both with some 


THE GIRL WITH THE CORNFLOWERS. 217 


curiosity, “ No. 491, ‘The wife of Josiah Jobson, Esq.’ 
Humph I I can’t say I admire Mr. Jobson’s taste ” — 
then, in a whisper, “ You can’t keep your handkerchief 
up to your face all day.” 

“ I know that ; but ” 

“Oh, Ted” — from his sister, who was a little in 
advance — “there’s that pretty girl again 1 But I 
forgot — you were not with us when we saw her before. 
Look ! there she is with the tall, elderly gentleman 
looking at that picture of “ Ruth and Naomi.” 

Ted Burritt turned to look in the direction he was 
told, and saw a very lovely girl, in a blue dress and 
hat trimmed with cornflowers, quite absorbed in con- 
templation of the picture before her. The elderly 
gentleman, who accompanied her, had his back towards 
him — but who cares to take any notice of elderly 
gentlemen under such circumstances ? 

“You admire her, don’t you, Ted?” she inquired, 
with much interest. “ I thought you would, although 
Dr. Cart-wright pretends to see nothing in her.” 

The young man turned his eyes away reluctantly. 
“ Yes,” he said. 

“ And,” continued his sister, “ do you know, I heard 
her say when she passed us a little time back, that she 
‘ would rather have a strawberry ice than all the pic- 
tures in the world.’ ” 

“ Is that a hint ? ” said the brother ; “ because, if so, 
come along.” 

The invitation, such as it was, was promptly accepted ; 
but as they turned to go in the direction of the refresh- 
ment room, May Burritt noticed that her brother, who 
led the way, diverged so as to pass close by the girl 
with the cornflowers, who was now engaged in in- 
specting another picture at a little distance from them. 

She was unaware of the young fellow’s admiring 


218 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


glance and was turning away when she dropped her 
catalogue. The gentleman, who formed her escort, 
had moved on a few paces, and, with his back still to- 
wards them, was interesting himself in a group of 
Highland cattle. 

Quick as lightning Ted Burritt sprang forward, 
picked up the catalogue and restored it to its fair 
owner, who thanked him with a smile and, for a mo- 
ment, their eyes met. 

“ What a nice young fellow, and how excessively 
polite I ” was the young lady’s thought, as she passed 
on to rejoin her companion. 

“What a lovely girll I wonder what her name 
is ? ” was the corresponding reflection in the masculine 
mind. 

“ I believe Ted has fallen in love at first sight,” said 
his sister, who had remarked this little episode, to the 
doctor. “ He has fallen in love with the girl with the 
cornflowers in her hat. I am sorry he has the tooth- 
ache. Poor boy, he won’t be able to have an ice ! ” 

“Talking of love at first sight,” said the doctor, 
" reminds me of a story of a patient of mine — but I’m 
afraid I shall bore you? ” 

“ Oh, pray go on ! ” was the eager reply. “ I do so 
love a story! — especially a true story 1 — and about 
love at first sight ! Oh, do go on ! ” 

By this time they had descended to the refreshment 
room, and were seated at a table waiting for the ices 
to put in an appearance. 

“ Ted,” said the girl to her brother, who was leaning 
forward with his elbow on the table and his hand 
over his mouth, and seemed to be paying no particular 
attention to what was going on round him, “ the 
doctor is going to tell a story I — a love story ! ” 

“ Well, you know,” said that individual, pulling up 


THE GIRL WITH THE CORNFLOWERS. 219 


his collar, “you musn’t expect too much — but I 
thought it might interest you — and it’s curious, too, in 
a way.” 

“If it is anything at all like the other story you 
told me when I spent the evening at your house,” 
remarked Ted, rousing himself to listen, “ it must be 
very curious indeed.” 

“ Suppose you wait until you’ve heard it before 
delivering an opinion,” replied the doctor, severely. 
“ What’s this ? Ices ? Frightfully unwholesome things ! 
I don’t know anything worse than ices — thank you, 
yes, I’ll take one. 

“ Well, you must know,” he continued, between the 
spoonfuls, “ his name was Hoskins, and he lived in a 
house at the end of the street, exactly opposite to 
another house, which was occupied by two maiden 
ladies. He was an elderly man — that is,” correcting 
himself rather hastily, “ not exactly young ; about my 
own age — and had always been noticeable for little 
eccentricities, but nothing more. One day he sent for 
me; I found him looking poorly. ‘What is it?’ I 
asked. He shook his head, sighed and held out his 
hand for me to feel his pulse. It was rather feeble 
and fluttering. I looked at his tongue and examined 
the whites of his eyes. ‘ You’re bilious,’ I said ; ‘ I’ll 
send you round something to take.’ But he shook 
his head. ‘Biliousness it may be,’ he said, ‘but 
not the ordinary kind ; it’s ’ — and he turned up his 
eyes in the most horrible manner — ‘it’s biliousness 
of the heart. Doctor,’ he said, * it’s lovesickness ! ’ 
I had heard of his being a bit queer at times; so 
I thought I would humour him. ‘ Indeed ! ’ I said, 
‘ then I’m afraid in that case I can’t do anything for 
you ; but you might try the effect of a couple of pills 
night and morning, and leave off sugar for awhile.’ 


220 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


‘ I’ve tried that,’ he said, with a groan, ‘ but it’s no 
good. Doctor,’ he said, grasping my hand, ‘ what I 
want isn’t a pill, it’s a love potion ! ’ ‘A lotion,’ I 
said, purposely misunderstanding him, * for outward 
application only? Very well, I’ll send it along, and 
you can rub it into the injured part ten minutes, 
three times a day.’ ‘ A potion ! ’ he cried, ‘ not a lotion ; 
a love potion — a philtre— such as they used to brew in 
the middle ages ; and not for myself — for her ! She 
whom I adore so madly ; but who persistently turns 
her face from me.’ ‘ Oh,' I said, still humouring him ; 
‘ and who is the lady ? ’ ‘ I don’t know her name,’ he 

cried, ‘ and I have never seen her face ; but her figure ! 
— that ravishing waist ! — those exquisite outlines — they 
have stolen away my heart ! ’ Then, in a calmer voice, 
he continued, ‘ She lives opposite — my lady love — my 
queen ! — my cruel charmer ! ’ And, to my surprise, he 
pointed through the window to the house opposite, 
where the two maiden ladies resided. ‘ Bless me ! ’ I 
said; “why I visit there, and I’ve never seen any- 
body but those two respectable spinster sisters ; you 
don’t mean one of them, surely?’ ‘No, no,’ he ex- 
claimed, in the wildest excitement ; ‘ it is the myste- 
rious fair one, who never comes out. They keep her 
prisoner in the little room over the door; but I will 
rescue her. I, her faithful knight ! Let her only give 
me one glance — one single glance of encouragement. 
But she won’t — she never will; she has never even 
deigned to show me her face. Doctor — dear Doctor, 
won’t you help me ? I will write a love-letter, such 
as must melt her stony heart ; and you shall send it to 
her wrapped round a bottle of cough mixture ; unless 
you wish to see me die at your feet of a broken heart.’ 
He w T as in a terrible state of excitement, and I was 
afraid he would go clean out of his mind, unless I 


THE GIRL WITH THE CORNFLOWERS. 221 


could contrive to pacify him in some way. And so I 
promised to do my best, and at anyrate induce the 
lady, whoever she was, to look at him, and with that 
intention went across to the house opposite, where the 
two spinsters lived. I told them the whole story and 
begged them to persuade the lady — who I thought 
might be a visitor — to humour the invalid over the 
way — so I described him — to the extent of allowing 
him a view of her features. They listened to me with 
a bewilderment which I could scarcely account for. 
‘ The little room over the door I’ said one. Sister 
Selina, it can’t be ! ’ * Sister Sophia,’ said the other, 

‘ you may depend upon it, it is 1 ’ * Do you think, 

Sister Selina, that under the circumstances, we should 
be justified in allowing the Doctor to see for himself ? ’ 
‘ I think, Sister Sophia, that under the circumstances 
it would not only be excusable but advisable.’ So they 
took me up to the little room over the door, and I saw 
something which, at first, made me rub my eyes — for you 
must remember that it was some years ago. * You see, 
Doctor,’ said one of the ladies, * Sister and I have always 
been accustomed to make our own dresses, and a cousin 
of ours, in London, has made us a present of this new 
fangled thing. It is made of wire and the body padded ; 
so that you put your dresses on that, instead of trying 
them on yourselves. It’s a great convenience and, as 
you can see, we are at work on one now, and I daresay 
from a distance it does look very life-like — only there’s 
no head to it.’ The next morning I called on my 
patient. ‘ Well !’ he cried, directly I entered the room. 

* Have you seen my fair one ? Has she consented to 
smile on me ? and when will she allow me to gaze on 
those matchless features ? ’ * You may gaze,’ I said, 

‘ exactly at eleven o’clock. She will then draw up the 
blind and stand at the window for five minutes.’ (This,” 


222 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


said the doctor, “ was the plan I had arranged, and by 
which I hoped to bring him to his senses.) At eleven 
o’clock precisely, the blind of the window over the 
door of the house opposite was drawn up. But to my 
horror, no sooner did that man Hoskins catch a sight 
of the apparatus, than he jumped at least three feet 
into the air and shrieked out, * They’ve cut her beautiful 
head off 1 The monsters ! The murderers ! They’ve 
beheaded her out of spite 1 ’ 

“ I had to get assistance to hold him down,” con- 
cluded the doctor, “ and the last time I heard of him 
he was wearing a straight waistcoat and enjoying 
the luxury of a padded room.” 

Just as he finished the last words of his story, May 
Burritt, who had chanced to glance across at her 
brother, started up in a great state of excitement, and 
cried out, “Oh, Ted I what have you been doing? 
You’ve shaved off your lovely moustache l” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A SUIT OP BEADY-MADE CLOTHES. 

R. JEREMIAH returned home next day, in spite 



-L-' of a pressing invitation to extend his visit. “ I 
shall have all my patients getting well if I stay away 
from them any longer, and that would be a pretty state 
of affairs.” 

There was not a single member of the household but 
was sorry to lose him ; even the cook declared that “ he 
livened ’em up wonderful — almost as much as a brass 
band at the corner of the street. There mayn’t be much 
of ’im,” she went on to say to one of her satellites, 
“ but the largest j’ints ain’t always the best, and though 
I prefer ’em a little finer grow’d myself, the biggest 
vegetable marrers is sometimes nothing but seeds.” 

So the doctor departed, and everything went on in 
the same way as before. The mysterious appointments, 
which (together with his shaven upper-lip) had caused 
his sister so many surmises, still continued to be kept. 
Business, pleasure, and everything else were put aside 
for them, and, but for the precautionary measure of 
taking a fresh partner into the business, in the shape 
of “ old Jones,” the old established business in Timber 
Lane might have found itself in jeopardy, through the 
singularly erratic conduct of the present head of the 
firm. 

One day, a short time after the doctor’s departure, 
May Burritt was alarmed by the appearance of what 
she took to be a strange man, who was slinking across 
the hall and evidently making for the staircase. His 


223 


'224 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


hat was slouched over his face, and he wore a suit of 
clothes of a dark grey mixture. 

“Who are you?” she cried, considerably alarmed 
by what she afterwards described as his “ hang-dog ” 
manner. He turned round. 

“ Good gracious, Ted! ” she exclaimed, “how you 
startled me ! And what are you doing in those clothes ? ” 
“What’s wrong with them?” he asked, with a 
conscious air. “ They’re quite respectable ? ” 

“ Respectable? Yes,” she answered, “ that’s just the 
proper expression for them. But I never saw you in 
anything of that sort before ; I don’t exactly know 
what’s the matter with them,” she continued, wrink- 
ling her forehead ; ‘ ‘ but they make you look almost ’ ’ 

she hesitated before committing herself to such a crush- 
ing rejoinder — “ they make you look almost common ! ” 
“ No ; do they, though? ” was the interested inquiry. 
“ I thought they were rather awful myself when I first 
tried them on, but I didn’t know it was as bad as that.” 

“ Why, good gracious ! ” thought Miss Burritt, “ he 
seems quite pleased ; as though I had been flattering 
him, instead of saying such a dreadful thing as I did.” 

“ But, I say, May ! ” he went on, with unimpaired 
cheerfulness, “ do I really look a vulgar, common sort 
of a chap?” 

“ Oh, no! not so bad as that,” she answered, with 
compunction, and a strong, though unexpressed con- 
viction that he could not look really common in any- 
thing ; “ you look a very decent, respectable young man, 
indeed, but they certainly do make a great difference 
— the clothes, I mean ; I wonder why it is? ” 

“ Do I, really ? ” in answer to the first part of her 
remark. “ A very decent, respectable young man,” re- 
peating her words, as though something in the sound 
of them pleased him very much. “But,” drawing 


A SUIT OF READY-MADE CLOTHES. 225 

nearer to her, and adopting a confidential tone," I’ll tell 
you why it is, they’re — they’re ready made ! ” The effect 
produced by this communication was considerable. 

"Good gracious me, Ted!” she cried. "Why, I 
thought nobody wore ready made clothes but ” — she 
paused in search of an example, " but convicts — and — 
commercial travellers.” 

Her brother laughed. " What a goose you are ! 
But since you don’t seem to fancy the suit, I’ll go and 
change it.” And he bounded up the stairs as though 
glad to escape further cross-examination. 

“ He never said why he bought them' ready made,” 
she mused, after he had disappeared from view. “ And 
I can’t understand in the least why it was he seemed 
pleased, instead of being angry, when I said he looked 
almost common in them — or respectable, which was 
the same thing. In fact ” — as she turned away — "there 
has been a great deal lately I haven’t been able to 
understand. I wish Dr. Cartwright were here : he 
always seemed to know everything, though I can’t say 
I qiiite believed that story he told us at the Academy. 
I wonder” — with a sudden inspiration — "whether all 
this has anything to do with — with the murder ? Or 
whether Ted has forgotten that plan of his about hunting 
down that other poor man ? He has not said anything 
about it for some time. I suppose it is very dreadful 
of me to speak of my father’s murderer in that way, 
and I wouldn’t dare to let Ted hear me — but I’m sure he 
must be dreadfully miserable ; at least, I know I should 
be if I had killed anybody 1 It’s strange how hard — how 
really hard — I’ve tried to hate him; but, somehow, I 
don’t seem to be able to do my duty in that respect.” 

Then her thoughts flew off at a tangent. 

" I wonder what has become of that pretty girl with 
the cornflowers in her hat ? It’s funny that she should 

15 


226 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


have made such an impression on me. It isn’t as 
though I were a young man — like Ted, for instance — 
and I believe that he admired her quite as much as I 
did, only he wouldn’t say so. I wonder what her 
name was ? It ought to be a pretty name. I wonder 
if I shall ever see her again ? I should know her any- 
where. She was just the sort of girl I should have 
liked for a friend, and, as we were not the least bit 
alike, we needn’t have been jealous of each other. 
I liked the look of the gentleman who Was with her, 
too — her father, I suppose he was. I wonder why 
Dr. Cartwright didn’t admire her? and I wonder” 
— with a sudden irrepressible smile — “whether he 
admires me?" 

But the little surprise and the mystification caused 
by the ready made suit were nothing compared with 
that which she was to experience before she was 
another week older ; for one morning she was again 
summoned to a solemn conclave in the study. 

It no longer remained a prey to dust and cobwebs ; 
the housemaid and the housemaid’s broom had in- 
vaded that hitherto sacred apartment. The floor had 
been swept, the furniture rubbed, and the spiders put 
to flight. Under these changed circumstances the 
room looked quite common-place and comfortable. 
Brooms and brushes had cleared away all morbid 
associations, and the omnipresent duster had dispersed 
all mysterious and superstitious notions. In face of 
the present aspect of the room, with the blind drawn 
up and a full flood of summer sunshine pouring in 
through the window, it seemed to Ted Burritt that 
surely this could not be the scene of his strange mid- 
night experience. 

•Everything was as trim, tidy and interesting as 
possible. 


A SUIT OF READY-MADE CLOTHES. 22T 

“ I wonder what it can be this time?” thought the 
girl, as she seated herself by invitation on the couch 
on which her brother had slept and dreamed. 

“ He looks rather excited. What a pity he has shaved 
off his moustache — he used to be so good-looking with 
it and the girls used to admire it so much.” 

“ May,” he said, abruptly, “ I’m going away ! ” 

“Going away!” she repeated. “Where to, and 
for how long — from Saturday till Monday ? ” 

“ I can’t tell you where, and I can’t tell you for how 
long,” was the unexpected answer ; “ probably for two 
or three months, possibly for longer.” 

“ Goodness gracious ! was the startled exclamation ; 
“ why two or three months ? Are you going abroad ? ” 

“ No,” he answered, “ I don’t mind telling you that 
much — I’m not going out of England. In fact, I 
sha’n’t be very far away from you, but I have a strong 
reason for not wishing you to know more at present.” 

“ But you will write ? ” 

He considered and shook his head. “ No, I think 
not — unless in an emergency. I daresay it seems 
very strange to you, but it is the result of much 
thought and earnest deliberation.” 

“But why?” — she opened her mouth again to ask 
— and came to a sudden full stop. 

What was it had enlightened her ? 

An expression upon the face opposite. A cruel, 
vindictive look about the corners of the firmly closed 
mouth, which the razor had left bare, and a rapid 
comparison made between this and another similar 
occasion, when he had first revealed to her the whole 
mysterious tragedy which surrounded their father’s fate ! 

He was going after the other man — the unfortunate 
wretch he had vowed to deliver to the hangman. She 
saw it all. And here, she had been telling herself that 

15—2 


228 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


he had forgotten, or else that the matter had proved too 
difficult, or the clue, which he thought he held, had 
escaped him. 

What an awful thing it was to thirst for the blood 
of a fellow being like that I It was all very well to 
quote Scripture in defence of it ; but you could always 
calculate on finding a verse that you could twist so as 
to make it mean just what you wanted, and then there 
was generally another verse, if you only knew where 
to look for it, that contradicted the first. 

Ted was surprised at her sudden fit of silence and 
the look of- something like horror that crept across 
her face. He had expected, or rather feared, that he 
would have had to go through an entire catechism on 
the subject, as soon as he had broken the news. He 
had never expected to be let off so easily as this, and 
with the usual inconsistency of fallen human nature, 
he hardly liked it. 

“I wonder what she’d say if she knew all?” he 
thought. He looked at her scrutinizingly for a moment, 
as though half inclined to risk it. 

“ No, no ; it would never do,” he decided, in a very 
brief space. “ She’d kick up no end of a fuss — faint — 
go into hysterics, very likely, and bring the whole 
house about my ears. For I must own it is risky, 
though it’s too late to retreat now, even if I wished it, 
which I don’t. Besides, the chance has been thrown 
in my way so miraculously — everything has been made 
so easy for me — that it seems as though Providence 
had charged herself with the ordering of the whole 
affair. There must be something more in this than 
meets the eye. Even Sharp is surprised at the way 
in which things have turned out.” 

Then, turning to his sister, he said, gravely, “I 
hope you believe that what I am doing I am doing for 


A SUIT OF READY-MADE CLOTHES. 229 


the best and from the highest motives ? ” A cynical 
smile curled his lips as he finished saying this. “ The 
very highest of motives, indeed,” he commented, in his 
own mind, “ ‘ to see a man swing at the end of a string.’ 
By Jove ! what a bloodthirsty devil I’m getting,” he 
thought, alarmed for an instant, as he realized for 
the first time the pitilessness of his nature. But he 
soon repented of this. “ If others were to give way 
to this feeling how many criminals might escape their 
just doom ? I ought to be ashamed to indulge such a 
thought for a moment, with my father’s blood crying 
out to me from the ground. But it is the first time, 
and shall be the last. I wish she would say some- 
thing ” — his thoughts running again in the direction of 
his sister. “ She’s ready enough with her questions 
at most times.” 

As if in answer to this unspoken desire, she suddenly 
addressed him: “What am I to tell mother?” she 
demanded. 

“ Tell her ? ” he repeated. “ Oh ! tell her whatever 
you like. Unfortunately, she seems to take so little 
interest in anything now, that she will accept any 
explanation you like to make.” 

“And suppose,” she continued, “suppose anything 
very important should happen? Something which 
you ought to know — illness, for instance, or ?” 

“ I have thought of that,” he interrupted. “ In 
case of anything of that kind occurring, though we 
will not anticipate it, put an advertisement in the 
Standard, in the * agony column.’ I will look 
there every day, and if, at any time, my presence 
should be absolutely necessary, I will answer it in 
person.” 

“ Surely, it would be much simpler to give an 
address,” she persisted. 


230 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ I — I can't do that,” he replied, with manifest 
hesitation ; “it might lead to complications.” Then, 
reasuringly, “Oh, it will be all. right, you’ll see; and 
perhaps, after all, I may not be away so very long ; it’s 
all a chance.” (“A chance,” he murmured, “which I 
mean to make into a dead certainty for somebody.”) 

“ I wish I knew what he was thinking about,” 
May thought, as another brief silence ensued; “and 
yet— I don’t think I do. I’m sure it can’t be anything 
pleasant, «or he wouldn’t look so stern, or shut his 
mouth so tight. He’s thinking of that other man ; 
and to fancy that only two months ago, none of this 
had happened ; and we never dreamt but that every- 
thing would go on just the same for years and years. 
What a fortunate thing it is we don’t know what’s 
coming,” she concluded, philosophically. “ Perhaps, 
even now there is something going to happen which 
we haven’t the least idea of. And when are you 
going?” she asked. 

“ To-morrow.” And, true to his word, he left his 
home the next day, wearing, as might have been 
observed, that indentical suit of ready-made clothes, 
and taking with him only one small portmanteau. He 
took an affectionate leave of his mother and sister, the 
former of whom had readily accepted the first explana- 
tion which presented itself to the mind of the individual 
upon whom the task of making it devolved. 

“ Going away for a change of air, is he? Well, I 
daresay he wants it, the dear boy ; but I hope he won’t 
stay away too long, or he’ll find me gone. I always 
made a point of never keeping your father waiting, and 
I know he’s looking out for me now and wondering 
why I’m behind my time 1 ” 


Book **♦ 

Belmont House, Hampstead. 


chapter i. 

LEAVES PEOM A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY. 

“ TT is six weeks to-day since I left school. How 
-L some of the girls did cry — especially that fat 
Lucy Johnson. She flung her arms round my neck 
and fairly bellowed. I wonder how it is that fat 
people can always cry so easily ? * Laugh and grow 
fat ’ it is, according to the proverb ; but I think it 
ought to be, cry and grow fat ; for all the fat girls I’ve 
known could always turn on their tears at a moment’s 
notice, and I am quite sure it was all through Lucy 
Johnson crying over me to the extent she did that 
I had such a bad cold the next day. 

“ But there, I oughtn’t to laugh at her, poor thing ! as 
it was all owing to her affection for me ; and I even 
cried a little myself when I said * good-bye ’ to them 
all. They seemed to expect it of me, and they were, 
all of them, dear, nice things, and really, after being at 
the same boarding school for five years, and not even 
going home for the holidays, because you have no home 
to go to, one can’t help feeling a littte sorry and low 
spirited at leaving. As it is, I’ve promised faith- 
fully, on an ‘Ancient and Modern Hymn Book/ 
to write to sixteen of my dearest friends at least, 
23X 


232 THE FATAL BEQUEST. 

once a week. I really meant to do it at the time, 
but I’m dreadfully behind band already, and I 
think it will end in my writing to one of them and 
asking her to pass the letter round among the other 
fifteen. I am afraid they won’t like it, but what is a 
poor girl to do, who has got such heaps of shopping to 
get through, not to mention theatres and concerts, and 
a host of other things ? I’m sure, if I were not very 
industrious I should never be able to manage it all. 

“ You see, I have been kept at school so long — just 
because there was nowhere else for me to go — that I 
haven’t been able to grow up gradually. Of course, as 
long as you are at school, you are only a school girl, 
and now I have got to change into a grown up young 
lady at a moment’s notice, and talk and behave as 
though I had never known what it was to have a 
supper party in the dormitory (after the second gover- 
ness had been in to see that the lights were all out), 
with the bottles of gingerbeer hidden behind the look- 
ing-glass, and jam tarts just where you would least 
expect them. 

“ I don’t think I shall ever enjoy anything again so 
much as I did those supper parties — though the great 
difficulty was to uncork the bottles without letting 
them go pop ; and the raspberry puffs were often spoilt 
through having to be stuffed under the pillow, if there 
happened to be a false alarm, as there very often was. 

“ But nobody minded that ; it only made it all the 
more exciting, and the fear of being found out caused 
the flattest gingerbeer to taste like champagne. 

“ I remember once, when there was a report that 
someone was coming, dropping a very sticky strawberry 
tart into one of my boots, and forgetting all about it 
until I went to put them on next day. Ugh ! 

“ But the night before I left for good (I’m sure I hope 


Leaves from a young lady>s diary. 233 

it is for good !) there was a very grand affair — a sort of 
farewell banquet in my honour, to which all the 
boarders were invited, and there was a bottle of ginger- 
beer to every other girl. 

“ It was even proposed, by one very desperate 
character, to have ices. But the enormous difficulties 
in the way, and the fear of their melting and running 
all about the place, to say nothing of having to eat 
them with the handle of a toothbrush, caused the idea 
to be abandoned, after a little discussion, as imprac- 
ticable ; so we had Turkish Delight instead. It was a 
splendid set out, though there was only one tumbler 
between six, and someone sat down on the chocolate 
creams. There was any amount of cake, three pots of 
greengage jam, sausage rolls, figs and butterscotch, and 
I forget what else. 

“ Some of the girls made speeches, and they all drank 
my health out of gingerbeer bottles, and Lucy Johnson 
cried more and ate more three-cornered tarts than 
anyone else. The supper was laid out on my bed, and 
the company sat round on bonnet boxes. Sometimes 
the fids gave way and upset them, and once there was 
a little unpleasantness through one girl dropping some 
jam down another girl’s back, which put her out so 
much that she called the one who did it ‘ a nasty mean 
thing,’ and said she’d never lend her another hairpin 
as long as she lived. And the other one said she 
didn’t want her old hairpins, and she’d cut all her hair 
off sooner than demean herself by borrowing one. And 
really it seemed as' though it was going to be quite a 
serious affair, only I begged them not to be so unkind 
as to quarrel on my last night, and said if they didn’t 
make friends directly, they should neither of them 
be bridesmaid when I was married, and they soon 
made it up. The girl who dropped the jam down the 


234 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


other one’s back said it was quite an accident, and 
she wouldn’t have had it happen for the world ; and 
the other girl insisted on lending her two hairpins on 
the spot. 

“ This, with the exception of Fanny Brownlow nearly 
putting Laura Smithers’ eye out with the cork of a 
gingerbeer bottle, and Clara Parker setting fire to her 
curl papers with the candle, and having them put out 
with great presence of mind and a wet towel, was the 
only hitch, and they all said that, but for my going 
away the next day, they should never have enjoyed 
themselves so much before in their lives. 

“ It was rather a pity that anyone made this remark, 
because it started Lucy Johnson off crying directly, and 
one or two of the others, who had eaten the most and 
didn’t feel very well, followed her example, and said 
that life was a hollow sham, and that unless I promised 
that they should each come and stop with me for a 
month, they would let go of the rope of the machine 
the next time they went to bathe, and be carried out 
to sea. 

“I said that the best thing they could do would 
be to pick up the crumbs and the bits of paper and the 
string off the parcels, or they would catch it in the 
morning. 

“ I am sure I don’t know why I am writing all this 
down, just as though I were composing my memoirs, 
instead of keeping a diary, as all the girls say they 
mean to do when they leave school, so as to be able to 
keep an account of the number of offers they receive. 
So one of the first things I did when I came to London 
was to buy a very large, handsome one, bound in red 
morocco, with ‘Diary’ on the back in gilt letters, 
and the pages ruled, and blotting-paper and every- 
thing. It looked so nice that it seemed quite a pity to 


LEAVES FROM A YOUNG LADY'S DIARY. -235 


spoil it by writing in it, and I have made three blots 
already. 

“ The worst of it is that I don’t seem to have any- 
thing to write about. That is, nothing exciting, like 
the diaries you read in print. The heroines in the 
books, who keep diaries, always seem to have such 
interesting things happen to them, so that when they 
come to sit down at night — and I notice that they 
never think of beginning to write in them until past 
midnight — they have always something worth putting 
down. If they go for a ride in a carriage the horses 
always bolt, and there’s always a lovely precipice just 
in the right place. If they go to the theatre, it always 
catches fire just on purpose to allow some nice young 
Lord or Marquis an opportunity of saving them, and 
they can’t even go for a walk without being chased by 
a mad bull, or falling into a river, or being lost in a 
wood, or frightened to death by some dreadful character. 

“ Now, I have had my diary nearly six weeks, and I 
have been waiting all this time for something to 
happen — something interesting or mysterious — some- 
thing romantic or dreadful — and it hasn’t. 

“ I have been out a great deal, ridden in lots of 
carriages, been to the theatre dozens of times, as well 
as to picture galleries, and concerts, and all sorts of 
places, and yet, for all that, I have got nothing to put 
in my diary' yet, and am obliged to go back to the last 
supper party at school, just for the sake of writing 
something, and because it is so silly to have a diary 
without a word in it. 

“ Of course there was the meeting with my father — 
that was a great excitement, after five years’ separa- 
tion. Five years is a long .time, but it has not made 
so much alteration in him as it has in me. Five years 
ago (as well as I can remember) he was tall and thin, 


236 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


and rather grey, and always let me have my own way 
in everything. Now, after five years’ absence, he does 
not seem quite so tall, because I have grown a good 
deal myself in that time ; but beyond the fact that he 
has taken to wear a beard — which I do not like — I see 
very little difference in him, and he still lets me have 
my own way in everything, just as he did when I was 
a girl without any mother. 

“ As for me, he must have found me very much 
changed. I was a tomboy in short frocks and pina- 
fores, with my hair hanging over my eyes like a skye- 
terrier, when he said * good-bye ’ to me ; while I clung 
to him and wouldn’t let go, as he put me in charge of 
the lady who was going to look after me on the voyage. 
He was every bit as sorry to part with me as I was 
with him. But he wanted me to have an English 
education, and grow up like an English young lady, 
and I think he is satisfied with the result. 

“ When I first came to the school, the girls used to 
call me ‘ Miss Stars and Stripes ’ and * Yankee Doodle,’ 
and mimic me, and I daresay I did seem rather wild 
and strange in their eyes. But I soon lost that, and 
began to pick up their ways, and talk like them, 
and forget that I had been born in America, and that, 
my father owned ever so many thousand head of cattle 
out there, or that I had ever run wild like a young colt, 
or done anything but walk out two and two, and learn 
French verbs and try to have a waist an inch smaller 
than any of the other girls. 

“ I seem to have started quite fresh when I came to 
school at Brighton, and should be dreadfully ashamed 
now if anyone took me for an American girl. 

“ It was the morning after the supper party that my 
father came to take me away. I had been expecting him 
for more than a week, and had had everything packed 


LEAVES FROM A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY. 237 


up ready days before. For he had written to me as soon 
as he landed at Dover to tell me to expect him almost 
directly, and I waited and waited, and he never came, 
and just when I was beginning to think that something 
dreadful must have happened, I had another letter to 
say that he had been unexpectedly detained by some 
very important business, and I must stop where I was 
for a few days longer. 

“I noticed that the post-mark on the letter was 
* London,’ and wondered what the business could be. 
Then another letter came, telling me that he would 
arrive on a certain day without fail, and this time the 
dear old thing kept his word, and we met again after 
having been parted for five long years. Not that they 
had seemed long to me, for I had been very happy at 
school, and was very fond of the girls, and even the 
governesses were not bad old things. But, still, it is a 
long time for a father to be separated from his only 
child. It was a very affecting meeting when it did 
take place ; and perhaps it wa^ the emotion that made 
him turn so pale when I asked him what he had been 
doing since he landed in England, and why he had not 
come to fetch me before ? He said he had been laid up 
soon after arriving, and then there had been business 
to attend to. 

“ I asked him what had been the matter with him? 
and what the business could be that kept him from 
coming to see his only daughter? And I understood 
him to say that he had suffered from some sort of 
nervous attack, which had quite prostrated him for the 
time being, and that, with regard to the other matter, it 
was no use troubling my pretty head with business de- 
tails, which I should not be able understand in any case. 

“ Then I had to say ‘ good bye ’ to the girls, and I 
forgot to ask any more questions, else I meant to have 


238 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


asked what he thought it was that brought on the 
nervous attack. 

“ So we came to London and stayed at big hotels 
while we looked about for a house, and I enjoyed it all 
very much. Somehow my father did not seem to care 
for anything but reading the papers. I really think he 
used to buy every one that came out. I don’t know 
what it was that interested him so much in them, for 
he does not like me to read the papers. Once, when 
I happened to look over his shoulder, he appeared 
to be reading something headed, ‘ Mysterious Affair,’ 
and seemed rather annoyed at my catching even that 
little glimpse of the contents. 

“ I heard some people talking the other day about a 
dreadful railway accident that took place some little 
time ago, between Dover and London, and I remarked 
to my father, what a fortunate thing it was that he did 
not happen to be travelling by that train, as he might 
have been — for it was just about the time that he 
landed. I suppose he agreed with me and felt what 
an escape he had had, for his face seemed to turn quite 
grey, and his hand shook. 

“ I am afraid that nervous attack he spoke of has 
left some ill effects behind.” 


CHAPTER II. 


THE DIABY — CONTINUED. 

** "FT is more than three weeks since I have written a 

JL word in my diary. We have been so busy, 
what with house hunting and furnishing and engaging 
servants, I have not had a moment to spare, and as for 
those poor dear girls at school I promised to write to 
regularly, they must think either that I am dead or 
that I have forgotten all about them. I had no idea 
what a lot of trouble was involved in taking a house. 
I seem to have seen no one but house agents and up- 
holsterers for the last month. Eirst of all there was 
the bother of finding a house that suited us. For a 
whole fortnight we did nothing but tramp backwards 
and forwards from one to another. There was always 
some drawback, either we didn’t like the view, or the 
ceilings were too low, or it was too near the railway, or 
too far from town, or the situation was damp, or some- 
thing. I think we must have gone over fifty before we 
found what seemed likely to suit us. It was at Hamp- 
stead, and * Belmont House ’ was its name. 

“ But even after we had found the house we could not 
do anything until we had some furniture to put in it, 
and it took a long time to choose it all and have it put 
in place. However, I did not mind that part of the 
business, as, after all, it was shopping, and I love shop- 
ping, even when I am only choosing saucepans and 
stair carpets. 

“ Sometimes we spent nearly the whole day at one of 
those great furnishing warehouses and the things we 
239 


240 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


bought must have cost a dreadful lot of money. But 
my father used to say never mind the price so long 
as I was pleased with the result. I am afraid that 
very few parents are such perfect loves as mine ; only 
I wish he took a little more interest in the things 
himself, instead of just looking on and paying the bill. 
Of course someone must pay the bill, but it seems 
strange for him to care so little for all the lovely 
things he buys — in fact, I believe, that but for me, he 
would have been content with just a table and one or 
two chairs and would never have dreamt of such things 
as Liberty silk hangings for the drawing room, plush 
portieres, Japanese screens, the latest style in sofa 
cushions and a hundred other absolute necessaries. 

“ This reminds me that I think I said, some time 
back, that when I first saw my father again after five 
years’ absence, he did not appear to me to be much 
altered. Since then I have had occasion to change my 
mind. I see now that he really looks much older than 
I took him to be at first sight. That illness which 
he had and which, for some reason, he does not care 
for me to refer to, must have been much more severe 
than he will allow, or I, at first suspected. 

“ Sometimes, in a second, his face will turn that 
dreadful grey colour and he will press his hand to his 
side as though in pain, which makes me very nervous, 
and I have begged him to consult a physician — a really 
celebrated one — about himself. But though he 
promises to do so, he keeps putting it off on some 
excuse or another. 

“There also something else which I forgot to 
mention, which is, that he walks with a slight limp, 
the result, he says, of having twisted his ankle in getting 
out of a railway carriage. But for this little anxiety 
about his health — for I do not suppose that there is 


THE DIARY-CONTINUED. 


241 


really much the matter with him — I should be per- 
fectly happy ; for I have nothing to do all day long 
but enjoy myself, now that the house hunting and 
furnishing and all the other business is done. 

“ One thing still remains, though — servants ! I have 
had to engage all the servants on my own responsi- 
bility. There is a cook, a housemaid, a parlourmaid, 
and a man-servant to wait at table, attend to the door 
and clean the plate — but I had nothing to do with 
engaging him. At present we have only the two first, 
but the others are coming in either to-day or to- 
morrow. I do hope they will be all right. The cook, 
I feel convinced, is most respectable and satisfactory 
and looks just what a cook ought to be, and the 
housemaid is also a very superior person — very plain, 
very prim and with an excellent character from her 
last place, which she only left because, as she told me 
herself, they were not sufficiently evangelical, and 
played croquet on Sunday. 

“I wonder whether we are evangelical? I didn’t 
know what it meant and did not like to ask her. I am 
rather afraid that I am not, but as I have no 
intention of playing croquet on Sunday (I can’t bear 
the game), perhaps she may consent to overlook my 
other failings. 

“ The other two servants, however, I am not quite 
so sure about, but I hope they won’t turn out any- 
thing very dreadful, particularly the man, who may 
be a burglar, or a captain in the Salvation Army, or all 
sorts of dreadful things. I had nothing to do with 
engaging him, that was my father’s concern, and he 
seems to have agreed to take him on trial chiefly 
because he liked the look of him, and also because 
he seemed such a respectable, civil spoken young 
fellow. 


16 


242 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ However, this is all very dull, uninteresting stuff 
to fill up a diary with. You never find anyone in a 
book, who keeps a diary, writing about anything so dry 
and stupid as house hunting and servants’ characters. 

I don’t know what the girls at school would think of 
it, and I am beginning to believe that I don’t know 
how to keep a diary at all and had better give it up — 
only, having bought such a large book, with such a 
number of pages, it seems such a pity not to put 
something in it. Anyhow, it isn’t my fault. If 
nothing ever happens, I can’t help it. Of course, I 
might make things up. I might pretend I had been 
chased by a mad bull, or rescued from drowning, or 
saved from being dashed to pieces over the brink of a 
precipice, by some heroic individual who made his 
appearance just at the right moment. But then it 
wouldn’t be true, and I shouldn’t be able to get any 
real pleasure out of it. 

“ I have been searching my memory, and the only 
little thing I can remember that could possibly be 
touched up and made to seem in the least interesting, 
is our visit to the Royal Academy. We managed to 
snatch time between the furnishing and the visits to 
the registry offices to go and have a look at the 
pictures. There were a great many of them, and 
some I did not care for at all. While I was looking at 
one I dropped my catalogue, and such a very polite 
young fellow rushed forward and picked it up, and 
returned it to me with a low bow. I had not time to 
notice what he was like, but he struck me as being 
rather good-looking and very gentlemanly. I wore my 
blue dress and cornflower hat, and he certainly did 
look as though he admired — my hat ! 

“ Just fancy having nothing better than this to put 
in a diary. Now, if I had fallen down and he had 


THE DIARY— CONTINUED. 243 

picked me up it might have been something worth 
mentioning. 

“ I begin to think that I must be a very uninteresting 
person myself, and that is why nothing really worth 
calling anything has happened to me. And yet, I 
have noticed that people stare a good deal, which, if 
they happen to be young men, makes my father very 
cross and I have heard him call them * puppies ! ’ 

“ I wonder whether he would have considered the 
gentleman who picked up my catalogue ‘ a puppy ’ ? 
Very likely he would — fortunately he was a little way 
on in front, and I don’t think he noticed him at all. 

“ The girls at school said I was to be sure and let 
them know how many offers I had ; particularly when 
I had the first and all the circumstances attending it. 
They thought nothing of anybody who did not have at 
least six during the first year after she left school, and 
they were kind enough to say that they thought I 
might reasonably expect quite twice that number. 

“ I don’t know what they would think if they knew 
that, so far from having received one, I have not so 
much as spoken a word to any man, except my father, 
all this time. Of course, I don’t count the house 
agents, or the upholsterers’ assistants. I think they 
would hardly believe it, but it is perfectly true for all 
that. As far as I can make out, we don’t seem to 
have any friends at all. Perhaps that is not so very 
remarkable, when you come to consider that it is over 
twenty years since my father left England. Still, you 
would have thought that there would have been some 
of his old acquaintances living, who would not have 
quite forgotten him, even in that time. 

“ I asked him one day whether he was going to call 
on anyone, or look up any of his old friends ; but he 
said, ‘ No, they were all dead ’ 1 


16 — 2 


244 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ * What, everyone? ’ I asked, for it seemed strange 
that they should all have died. ‘ Yes,’ he said, he 
had made inquiries, and found that there were none 
of them living now who used to know him, and it 
appeared to me — though that could hardly be possible — 
that he was glad of this. But I am very sorry, as 
what is the use of having a nice large house and 
everything else you could wish for, and no visitors ? 
Of course we shall get to know other people in time, 
but I should have much preferred to make the ac- 
quaintance of some of my father’s old friends, especially 
if they were married and had grown-up sons and 
daughters. For, after having been used to a boarding 
school, and to have at least sixteen particular friends, 
it seems a little dull sometimes — or would, if my 
father did not t'ake me out so much to the theatre, and 
to all the flower shows and matinees, and other places 
of amusement. But, for all that, I have never enjoyed 
anything else half so much as I did those supper 
parties at school, though the sausage rolls did get 
mixed up with the jam tarts, so that you couldn’t tell 
which was which, and the ginger beer was as flat as a 
pancake. By-the-by, I found an old newspaper to- 
day, with an account of that dreadful rail way - 
accident. I suppose it had been wrapped round 
something, for we have not moved in long, and 
are not nearly straight yet. Packing cases keep 
coming and having to be unpacked, which makes 
a litter, and I suppose that is how I happened to come 
across the newspaper. I took it up to my room and 
read it — every word. I suppose it was very wrong ; 
but if one did not do wrong occasionally, one would 
not be able to appreciate doing right. It made me 
shudder to read some of the details ; and this must have 
been the reason why my father did not wish me to 


THE DIARY— CONTINUED. 


245 


know anything about it. I read the account of the in- 
quest, too, and it appears that there was something very 
mysterious about the death of one of the passengers, 
who is supposed to have been murdered and not to 
have perished in the accident. I wish I could find 
another paper and read the rest of it. It is so annoy- 
ing not to know any more about it, or whether they 
have discovered the murderer; and I can’t ask my 
father because, if I did, I should have to own that I 
had been reading the newspaper, and he might be cross. 
When I had finished reading the last word, I tore the 
paper up in strips and stuffed it up the chimney. I 
felt delightfully wicked after I had done this ; and I am 
afraid it will make the chimney smoke unless some- 
one finds it out in time ; but I must have something 
to put in my diary. The housemaid has just been 
up to inform me that the new man-servant has come, 
and would I like to speak to him ? As I had nothing 
to say to him I did not see the good of that, and said 
no. She — that is, the housemaid — mentioned that he 
seemed a very respectable young man, but one ought 
not to judge by the outside, and she hoped he was 
evangelical. I said I hoped so, too, if it would keep 
him from breaking things. She looked at me, as she 
left the room, as though she doubted whether I 
were at all evangelical myself. I called her back to 
ask if she knew what the man’s name was. She told 
me, and I was half inclined to say, that so long as he 
could wait at table properly and did not breathe hard 
when he handed the vegetables, he might be as un- 
evangelical as he pleased ; but I was afraid that she 
might give me notice on the spot, and so refrained. 

“We are going to dine in town and then go to the 
Lyceum; so I must leave off writing and begin to 
dress. I had no idea I was going to write all this when 


246 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


I began ; I though I had nothing to say, and I have 
filled all these pages. Perhaps this is a sign that I am 
getting into the way of keeping a diary, and, perhaps, 
I shall be able to make it more interesting as I go on. 
Perhaps the next time I come to write in it I really 
shall have something to say. Perhaps the new man- 
servant may turn out to be a Fenian in disguise, or go 
off with the plate 1 I have heard of such things, and, 
after all, he had only a written character. However, 
so long as my father is satisfied it is no business of 
mine. 

“I can’t help thinking about the railway accident 
that I have just been reading about. It was so 
dreadful ! There were such a number of people burnt 
to death I Just fancy if my father had been in it ! 
As it is, it seems like a special interposition of Pro- 
vidence. 

“By-the-by, I have just mentioned that I asked 
Perkins, that is the housemaid, what the new man’s 
name was. I may as well write it down here, and 
that will help me to remember it. His name is 
Edwards.” 


CHAPTER III. 


A YOUNG MAN OF THE NAME OF EDWARDS. 

fT^HE domestic staff of Belmont House were par- 
JL taking of their matutinal meal, the cook pre- 
siding, as the head of the culinary department has 
ever claim to do. On her right sat a young man in 
what might be described as undress livery, a striped 
linen coat taking the place of the more formal garment. 
The new parlour maid, a good looking young woman 
of the buxom order, who had also arrived the previous 
evening, sat on his right. The evangelical housemaid 
occupied a seat opposite, and already regarded the 
good looking parlour maid with disapproval, while the 
latter, in her turn, shot coquettish glances at the 
young man in livery. He certainly was far from bad- 
looking, and the parlour maid blessed her lucky stars 
that heaven had found her such a situation and such 
a fellow servant. 

The cook looked round her with satisfaction. 
“ We’re quite a nice little family party,” she remarked. 
“Three ladies and one gentleman. It’s a pity we 
ain’t two and two ” — shaking her fat sides — “ but there's 
always the pleesman at the corner for one of us to fall 
back on.” 

“ Let’s hope it won’t be you, then, cook,” retorted 
the housemaid,. “ for, with your weight, you’d squash 
him as flat as flat.” The lady to whom this little 
personality was addressed seemed for a moment un- 
certain how to take it. 

“Ah I” she said, at last, “it’s strange, but I never 
247 


2 18 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

did know a member of the force yet as took up with a 
thin figger.” 

The housemaid was unmistakably of a thin, not to 
say scraggy, type, consequently this shot hit the bull’s- 
eye. The parlour maid giggled audibly and the house- 
maid swallowed the contents of her cup with a vicious 
gulp and mentally consigned the parlour maid to 
perdition. 

Then the- cook, who was naturally of a good natured, 
easy going disposition, and liked to live peaceably with 
her contemporaries, exerted herself to turn the con- 
versation into a safer channel. “ Talking of Aggers or 
looks — there’s our Miss Hagnes, she’s a real beauty, 
she is ! ” The young man on her right who, as she 
owned, had behaved most respectfully in passing her 
the toast and handing the kettle, and generally made 
himself both useful and agreeable (though not much 
to say), seemed interested. 

“ Is she dark or fair ? ” he inquired, opening his lips 
to ask a question for the Arst time. 

“ Oh, dark,” was the reply. “ ’Air as black as your 
boots, and eyes to match, and cheeks like strawberries 
and cream. Oh, she’s a real beauty is Miss Hagnes, 
and ’er pa jest dotes on ’er, and no wonder.” 

“And what sort of — er — gentleman is he?” asked 
the young man, hesitatingly. 

“ Oh,” was the generous avowal, “ I’ve nothing to 
say agin ’im — not as yet, that is,” correcting herself 
cautiously, “ though elderly gents is very deceitful, and 
I’ve knowed grey ’airs and a tightly buttoned up frock 
coat as ’as covered a multitude of sins, as the Scrip- 
ture says.” She looked across at the housemaid for 
approbation of this sentiment as she concluded. But 
the housemaid had her eyes Axed on the new parlour 
maid, whose attention in turn was completely absorbed 


rilE YOUNG MAN EDWARDS. 


249 


by the young man whose name, as has been previously 
mentioned, was Edwards. 

The latter young woman, as soon as the cook had 
finished speaking, feeling that it was time she began to 
unmask her batteries, leant across the table towards 
him and, bringing a pair of fine eyes into play, said, 
in insinuating tones, “ Tell us about your last place 
and why you left.” 

Something in the question seemed to take him very 
much aback, and he stared stupidly for a few seconds. 
“ My last place ! ” he repeated. 

“ Why, dear me, yes ! ” she answered, with a pout, 
which she had brought to perfection by practising assi- 
duously before the looking glass ; “ your last place, of 
course. I haven’t asked anything very dreadful, havel? ” 

“Minx!” breathed Miss Perkins to herself; “I 
wonder you aren’t ashamed, making eyes in that way ! ” 

“ My last place ! ” repeated the young man again, as 
though he had only just succeeded in taking in the sense 
of her words. “ Oh, to be sure, of course ! Oh, it was 
a very good place — a very nice place indeed ! ” 

“ Then, why did you leave it ? ” she persisted, while 
the cook, who, as the housemaid felt, ought to have 
known better, distinctly encouraged her by folding her 
arms akimbo and preparing to take a lively interest in 
the expected disclosures. 

“ Did you give notice, or was notice given you ? ” 

Evidently she had made up her mind to know all 
that was worth knowing on the subject. 

“ Oh — er — I gave notice,” was the somewhat hesita- 
ting reply. 

“ Wasn’t the wages what you ’ad a right to expect?” 
put in the cook, “ or did you feel as you was bein’ put 
upon ? ” 

“ N-n-o, it wasn’t that exactly.” 


250 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ Then, dear me, whatever was it?” asked the parlour 
maid. “Was there anything mysterious about it, 
or ? ” 

“Oh, no,” he hastened to interrupt her, “nothing 
of the sort. You see, it was like this, there — there was 
a death, and after that I didn’t care to stay.” 

A little later, the cook, in the usual interview with 
her young mistress, was able to express her views on the 
subject of the new arrival, whose name was Edwards. 

“ He seemed a very decent, obliging, young feller, 
but at the same time she might be deceived. If his 
character was to be relied on, he was sober and honest 
and willing to make himself useful in an f way, but 
then written characters, wasn’t always worth the paper 
they was wrote on. One thing, however, she could 
and would say, which was that whatever his faults 
might be, uppishness wasn’t among ’em, for it was not 
more than ten minutes ago he had asked her, in the 
most unassumingest way, to be so kind as to overlook 
any little awkwardness on his part, as he had only been 
in one place before and would be glad of her eggsperients 
in setting him right, if she saw him making any mis- 
takes.” 

“ I should think, then, cook, that he must be rather a 
nice young man to speak like that,” said her mistress ; 
“ at anyrate he is modest.” 

“ Modest is just the very hidentical word for ’im, 
miss — in fact if it ain’t any 'of it put on — I never see 
a modester . But ’ ’ — sinking her voice into a confidential 
undertone — “there is one or two things as rather 
puzzles me about ’im.” 

“ And what are they, cook? You had better tell me.” 

“Well, miss, to tell you the truth — which I will 
never do otherwise — one thing is ’is ’ands. They’re a 
deal too white and gentleman -like to please me. They 


251 


THE YOUNG MAN EDWARDS. 

look for all tlie world as though they ’ad never done 
nothink but wear kid gloves. And the other is that ’e 
ain’t said a word about ’is Sunday out— and that ain’t 
nat’ral like.” 

“ But perhaps- he may later on, cook. 

“ ’E may, miss; but, to my mind, it looks bad. I 
never knowed a respectable young man or woman in 
service yet but took a interest in their Sunday out. 

Later on in the day, however, the young man who 
had given rise to this discussion brought upon himself 
a serious imputation of carelessness. 

He was coming out of the dining room with a tray of 
glasses, and, happening to look up, caught sight of a 
figure descending the staircase. 

°It was- a wide, handsome staircase, and the velvet 
pile of the carpet was so thick that it deadened the 
sound of any footsteps. Consequently it must have been 
some instinct, independent of the sense of hearing, that 
prompted him to look up at that particular moment 
The figure, too, was undeniably a pleasant one for 
the eyes to rest upon. It was young, and it was slim, 
and it was charmingly attired in a blue gown and a 
picturesque hat wreathed with cornflowers. Alto- 
gether, it was a sight calculated to attract rather than 
to repel, and yet, when the young man in livery who 
was carrying the tray of glasses, caught sight of the 
young lady as she came slowly down the broad stair- 
case he gave a violent start and dropped his tray and 
its fragile contents with a crash that resounded through 

the house. , 

The young lady in blue gave a little scream. Good 
gracious!” she cried, “whatever made your do that? 
How dreadfully careless of you-what is your name? 

— Edwards!” ., 

The young man, who had turned very pale, said 


252 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


nothing by way of excuse, but remained staring 
vacantly at the ruin he had caused. 

“ Poor young man ! ” thought the young lady, as she 
passed on ; “ either he is very much frightened at what 
he has done, or else he is rather stupid.” 

Meanwhile the individual just referred to was putting 
a question to the pretty parlour maid, who, hearing the 
noise, had rushed to the spot and was now assisting 
him to pick up the fragments which were scattered all 
around. 

“Who was that?” he asked, as he pricked his 
fingers with the pieces of glass. 

“ Why, don’t you know? ” she exclaimed ; “ and yet 
you’ve been in the house as long as me? That’s Miss 
Agnes l ” 


CHAPTER IV. 


“ONE HUNDRED POUNDS* REWARD!” 

HE young lady in blue, whose sudden appearance 



J- had occasioned the catastrophe just mentioned, 
left the house, but was overtaken, before she had gone 
many yards, by a tall elderly gentleman, with grey 
hair and beard. 

“ You did not tell me you were going out,” he said, 
rather out of breath. “ I saw you leave the house 
from the window of my room and ” 

“And you came after me,” she interrupted, “like 
the dear old thing you. are.” 

“I don’t like you to walk alone/’ he answered. 
“ Where are you going? ” 

“ Only for a little stroll before luncheon — anywhere, 
it doesn’t matter.” Then, with a laugh, “Are you 
afraid that someone will run away with me ? ” 

“ I do not mean to give them the chance,” was the 
reply. “But what was that noise I heard just now? 
it sounded as though a lot of things had been broken.” 

“ It was the new man — Edwards, you know,” she 
explained. “I am afraid he is rather stupid, or else 
very nervous. He was coming out of the dining room 
with some glasses and things just as I was coming 
down the stairs, and directly he caught sight of me, he 
gave a sort of gasp and let everything fall. It was very 
strange” — wrinkling her forehead in a bewildered sort 
of way — “anyone would have thought that I had 
frightened him very much — as though I had been a 
ghost or something dreadful, instead of being nothing 
in the least alarming.” 


253 


•254 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Her father looked at her with amused curiosity. 
“No,” he said, “I don’t observe anything in your out- 
ward appearance calculated to terrify the most timid 
individual. It could not have been you who startled 
him.” 

“ But it was,” she persisted. “ If you had seen his 
face when he first caught sight of me, you would not 
have doubted it for a moment. Perhaps ” — and she 
drew a little nearer to him — “perhaps he has done 
something dreadful — committed a murder or some- 
thing, and I reminded him of his victim ! ” 

• Her father burst into a short, jarring laugh. 

“What will you imagine next?” he asked. “I 
wish ” — with an accent of irritation making itself ap- 
parent in his voice — “that you would not let your 
mind run on such matters. Murders!” And he gave, 
the ground an angry knock with his stick. “ Such 
things are not fit subjects for a young girl to dwell 
upon, and I do not like to hear the word fall from 
your lips. This comes of filling your head with the 
sort of trash that you school girls devour by the 
hundredweight ! It only shows,” he continued, calming 
down, “ that I was quite right when I determined not 
to allow you to read the newspapers and fill your brain 
with all the horrors they contain.” 

His daughter’s conscience gave her a prick. She 
thought of the paper which she had torn and stuffed 
up the chimney. She felt herself turning scarlet. 
What a wicked, good-for-nothing girl she was ! — and 
what a pity it was to have a conscience at all, if it 
only made you feel uncomfortable. She wondered if 
she looked as guilty as she felt? Fortunately her 
father was looking another way, or she was convinced 
that her face would have betrayed her. 

“ Perhaps,” she ventured to remark, by way of 


“ONE HUNDRED POUNDS’ REWARD 255 

turning the conversation, “ he is not in his right mind? 
The new man, I mean ? ” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” her father replied. “ He’s right 
enough. Didn’t I engage him myself? And he ap- 
peared to me, at the time, as being a remarkably quiet, 
well behaved young fellow, and willing, as he said, to 
do anything that might be required of him, and make 
himself useful in any way — very different to some of 
them. I am surprised at his turning out so awkward; 
for, of course, it could be nothing else but awkward- 
ness on his part. The idea of his being alarmed at 
the sight of you, is too ridiculous ! ” And he pinched 
the arm nearest to him. “ However, if he doesn’t do, 
he can go at the end of the month ; but I promised to 
give him a trial, and something about him rather took 
my fancy. I thought he seemed, if anything, a little 
above his station, and yet, without any airs.” 

“ Cook says,” quoted the young lady, “ that he is a 
very modest young man.” 

“ He struck me,” said her father, with an air of con- 
sideration, “as being almost — what you might have 
described as — gentlemanly. But of course, that’s all 
nonsense, like your own foolish fancies. Frightened of 
you ! — ha, ha I That is a good joke ! ” and he laughed 
aloud. After this they walked on side by side, in 
silence, for some way. 

“ It was all very well,” the young lady thought, “ to 
say it was all nonsense, but she was not so sure of it 
herself. There had been a look in the young man’s 
face — a sort of half scared, dazed look — that reminded 
her of a horrible story she had once read somewhere — 
only it was about a cook. A dreadful cook she was, 
too ! For, in the middle of the night she came to her 
mistress’ bed-side with the carving-knife and tried to 
cut her throat. Something in that young man’s look 


256 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


seemed to recall this story about the cook, who, as it 
was subsequently discovered, had just escaped from a 
madhouse. Horror! Suppose that the young man 
who had made such an unfortunate commencement 
by breaking a whole tray of glasses had just escaped 
from a madhouse ! Why not ? What had happened 
once might easily occur again ? 

Now here was something to put in her diary ! She 
had been wickedly grumbling that nothing of a roman- 
tic or sensational character had taken place since 
she left school. And now, here she was, perhaps, living 
' in the same house with a madman ! An individual 
who began his career under their roof by breaking 
glasses, might well end it by smashing their skulls ! 

With a sinking heart, she mentally resolved to look 
under her bed every night — madmen were very fond 
of hiding under people’s beds and then coming out 
when they were asleep and murdering them — or trying 
to. She had read of one or two such instances. She 
must also be sure to bolt and otherwise secure her 
door, so as to guard as much as possible against the 
shock of waking in the dead of night and finding some- 
one standing by her pillow, with a carving-knife in 
each hand. 

She remembered, too, to have heard of the power of 
the human eye over those who were distraught, and 
determined that whenever the man approached her, or 
entered the room in which she was, she would keep 
her eyes fixed upon him and not remove them on any 
account. 

It was all very well to say it was nonsense, and then 
wake up some morning and find your throat cut ! She 
would just like to know what the girls at school would 
have to say to this? They would look upon her as 
quite a heroine. 


“ONE HUNDRED POUNDS’ REWARD ” 257 


This stock of reflections served to carry her on until 
they turned to go home by another way, which way led 
them through a more frequented thoroughfare. 

“Is that the police station?” she asked, as they 
passed a certain building. “What a lot of notices 
there are posted up I What are they all about ? Look ! 
there is one headed ‘ Murder,’ and offering * One 
Hundred Pounds’ Ee ’ ” 

“My God 1 ” 

Who was it uttered that agonized cry? Could 
it be her father ? — the man who a moment ago had 
seemed in fairly good health and spirits, and now with 
ghastly, livid face and twitching features, seemed in 
the grip of some terrible torture, which had wrung 
from him that sudden sharp utterance — “ My God ! ” 

Was it a mental or physical pain which had forced 
the exclamation from his lips ? The girl who heard it 
stood petrified for an instant in terror. 

“What is it, father? Are you ill? Oh! whatever 
shall I do?” 

“ Nothing, nothing,” he gasped; “ a sudden spasm. 
But it was nothing, I tell you, and it is gone now. 
Come, let us walk on.” 

It was wonderful. In a few seconds he had regained 
at least his outward composure. The terrible look had 
passed from his face, and it seemed hardly possible 
that this could be he who had just appeared as though 
some horrible spectre of the past had risen up before 
him, or some mortal pang had wrung his very heart. 

His daughter gazed at him in amazement, then, 
noticing that he still had one hand pressed to his side, 
“ Won’t you go inside and rest? ” she asked, pointing 
to the open door of the police station. “Perhaps, if 
you were to sit down for a few moments, you would 

be better, or, if I were to ask for a glass of water ” 

17 


258 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


He caught her arm in a sort of horror. “What! 
there ?” he said. “No, no ; never ! ” Come along — 
let us be going home. I am quite well again now. I 
swear it. Let us get away from here, or we shall be 
attracting attention. See ! there is a policeman coming 
to the door to see what is the matter. Perhaps ” — with 
a dreadful sort of mirthless laugh, which seemed to be 
strangled in his throat — “perhaps he thinks I have come 
to give myself up for some crime I have committed in 
the past, and that my courage has failed me at the last. 
Come along, come ! I am sorry we came this way.” 

Two or three people had been attracted by this 
evident sudden indisposition on the part of an elderly 
gentleman. But, when they saw him turn and walk 
away as though little or nothing were the matter, they 
concluded that it could have been nothing more than 
a momentary faintness or a sudden passing attack of 
giddiness, and felt glad that they had not laid them- 
selves open to a charge of officiousness by proffering 
services which were evidently not required. 

They observed, too, that the daughter — or whatever 
the relationship might be — was a pretty girl, a deucedly 
pretty girl. 

Meanwhile the father and daughter pursued their 
way homewards. The breast of each was animated by 
conflicting and widely differing feelings. The latter, 
quite forgetful of the alarming and peculiar conduct of 
the new man-servant, which had previously occupied 
her mind, was anxiously telling herself that all her 
persuasions, if necessary, must be brought to bear upon 
her parent to induce him to see that physician, whom 
he had before now promised to consult, but had not 
yet carried out his word. There must be, surely, some- 
thing very serious the matter with him to make him 
look like that. It had been dreadful, the look on his 


“ONE HUNDRED POUNDS’ REWARD.” 259 


face. And yet how suddenly he had seemed to throw 
it off and be himself again. But for all that, she 
mentally determined that she would give him no peace 
until he had been to see one of the very foremost of 
the medical authorities of the day. 

She glanced at him again. He looked almost the 
same as usual ; but either she fancied it, or there was 
still a greyish tinge round his mouth, which even the 
moustache could not entirely conceal. 

Thank goodness, though, here they were at home 
again ! She turned towards him with sweet severity i 

“ Now be sure you go directly and lie down on the 
sofa in your room until I come and call you to lunch 
— now promise.” 

He made an effort to smile at her. 

“ I promise to try and rest,” he answered, with a 
certain amount of evasion. 

The door was opened to them by the young man, 
Edwards, but his young mistress never bestowed so 
much as a thought upon him, and far less observed the 
furtive glance which he ventured to direct towards her ; 
and having seen her father as far as the door of his 
own private room, she left him with another injunc- 
tion to be sure and rest. 

As she slowly ascended the staircase, in a very 
different frame of mind to the one in which she had 
descended it less than an hour ago, something sud- 
denly prompted her to glance back over her shoulder. 

The new man-servant, who had admitted them, was 
still standing by the door, and was gazing after her 
with the same strange look upon his face which had 
before alarmed her. Directly he saw that he was ob- 
served he dropped his eyes and assumed the respect- 
fully vacant expression of one who was waiting for 
iurther orders. 

17—3 


260 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“Whatever makes him look at me like that?” she 
thought, as she turned an angle of the staircase, which 
concealed her from the view of anyone below, and felt, 
as she did so, that she could breathe more freely now 
that she was safe from those pursuing eyes. “It 
frightens me, somehow. Is he mad ? or — Good 
gracious ! ” and she turned first scarlet and then white 
at the thought which struck her — “ That would be 
worse than all. Oh, what a day this has been ! I 
wish I had never left school. Perhaps ” — with a sudden 
burst of remorse, as she gained the safe refuge of her 
own room — “ it is a judgment on me for having read 
that paper. I suppose it is still up the chimney ? Oh 
yes, I can just see a little bit of it. Shall I pull it 
down and confess what I have done? ” 

She considered a few seconds with her head ononeside. 

“ If I do, it will make me in such a mess — and, after 
all, it is such a trifle, it doesn’t seem worth making so 
much fuss about. No ” — with decision — “ I’ll leave it 
where it is, and perhaps the birds will come and make 
a nest out of it.” 

She relapsed into a particularly luxurious looking 
chair and took off her hat. 

“How strangely things turn out,” she mused. 
“From what I could make out, that bill, which I saw 
posted up outside the police station we were passing 
when my father was taken so suddenly ill, offered 
one hundred pounds’ reward for any information which 
might lead to the discovery of the murderer of that 
gentleman who was found shot through the head in a 
first class carriage of the train which was smashed and 
burnt in that dreadful railway accident, the account of 
which is contained in that very same newspaper which 
is, at this very moment, stuffed up my bedroom 
chimney. 


“ONE HUNDRED POUNDS » REWARD .» 261 


“ One Hundred Pounds’ Reward 1 ” she repeated to 
herself. “It is a large sum of money. I wonder he 
has not been discovered before now — the murderer, I 
mean — I wonder what he is like, and whether he is 
young or old? Father says I ought not to let my 
mind run on such matters ; but I can’t help it, they 
seem to fascinate me. By -the -by,” she added, 
decisively, discarding her lounging attitude, “ I have 
quite made up my mind about two things. The first 
is, that my father must see a first rate physician, and 
the second is, that that man Edwards must go at the 
end of the month.” 


CHAPTER V. 


BLOOD MONET. 


DIFFERENT scene was taking place below, in 



Ta. the private room belonging to the master of 
the house. 

When his daughter had quitted him, it had been 
with repeated injunctions that he should lie down and 
rest. If she could have beheld how her orders were 
carried out she would have been sorely troubled. 

He waited until he heard the sound of her retreating 
footsteps. “ At last I am alone,” he cried, or rather 
groaned — “ At last ! ” — and flung himself into a chair. 

Moments passed, and the clock on the mantelpiece 
recorded the passage of each ; but he remained motion- 
less, his eyes fixed straight before him, and his lips 
sometimes moving as though uttering words, of which 
no sound escaped. 

At the end of half an hour the chiming of the time- 
piece partially roused him from his fit of gloomy 
abstraction. His eyes, instead of remaining fixed, on 
one spot, turned from side to side with a hunted look, 
as of one seeking escape and finding none. His lips 
still moved, and a distinct and audible sentence issued 
from them — “ One Hundred Pounds’ Reward ! ” Then, 
startled by the sound of his own voice, he looked 
hurriedly round him, as though to assure himself of the 
fact that there were no listeners. After which, he 
drew a deep breath, and passed his hand two or three 
times across his eyes. 

“ It was terrible 1 terrible 1” he murmured, “ to see 


262 


BLOOD MONEY. 


263 


it fastened there, right before my eyes, and more 
terrible still that my own child should be the one to 
call my attention to it ! If I had only known— if I had 
only paused to think of the weight of remorse, of ever 
present and ever increasing fear that I was calling 
down upon my head! If I had only stayed my hand 
for one instant ! Or if I had remained boldly, and 
loudly proclaimed my innocence and courted inquiry!” 

He stopped, and there was again that furtive look 
round. 

“Well, what then? Would anyone have believed 
my plausible tale? Would not one and all have pro- 
claimed me murderer!”— a convulsive shudder seemed 
to pass through him— “ And then,” he continued, with 
feverish rapidity, “then the dock, the shame, the tor- 
ture of suspense and— the punishment! And who 
could doubt what that would be ?— transportation for 
life_or— the gallows !— and my pretty child held up to 
universal execration as the daughter of a criminal ! 
No, no l ” — with another shudder which shook every 

limb “anything rather than that — dissimulation, 

falsehood, an agony of remorse— anything but a dis- 
honoured death — a felon s reward ! 

He dropped his grey head upon his out-stretched 
arms, -and again there was silence, broken only by 
heavy laboured breathing and muttered, incoherent 
words A silence which lasted not many moments, 
but which seemed of endless duration, when measured 
by the wild, despairing thoughts which were crowded 
into it. At the end of that time he raised his head. 

“ Is there a way out of it ?” he said ; “let me think. 

And then, with knitted brow and clenched fist, he 
gave himself up to deep and dark reflections. After a 
time his face began to lighten imperceptibly. 

“ I was a fool,” he said, softly, “ a fool to let myself 


264 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

be so visibly overcome as I did a little while back. 
Surely, after all I have been through, and the wild life 
I have led for so many years, my nerves should be 
sufficient to withstand a sudden shock — even such a 
shock -as that of seeing the proclamation of my own 
blood money ! Fool, fool I ” bringing his hand down 
with angry force upon the table ; “ that one act was 
enough to have raised suspicion had your companion 
been anyone else ; but she only put it down to sudden 
illness — heaven bless her ! How should she suspect me 
of wrong? ” And he groaned again, and flung himself 
back in his chair. 

“For all that,” he went on, after a moment, “I 
shall see a doctor, as I promised. There may be some- 
thing wrong? That sudden anguish that comes over 
me — that came over me but just now- — may not be all 
mental ? But after all, what are the cruellest physical 
sufferings compared with those of the mind ? And yet, 
why should I suffer in this way ? If I had done no 

worse deed than this in my life ? But it is the 

suspense — the dread of discovery — the horror of seeing 
myself blasted for ever in my child’s eyes — it is this 
that makes a coward of me. But there” — with a 
slightly more hopeful expression, — “I could always 
swear that I was innocent of the charge, and she would 
believe me — and I would stick at nothing, and even 
swear a false oath at any time, if necessary, to preserve 
myself blameless in her eyes. But if only I had not 
brought this thing upon me ! If only I had not given 

way to impulse — to If only I had not carried that 

cursed weapon about me, ready to my hand 1 If only 
I had been unprovided with the means of committing 
the act. But it is too late now to bemoan the past, 
and the future is full of pitfalls for my feet, unless I 
walk more warily.” 


BLOOD MONEY. 


265 


He rose from his seat, and, crossing the room with 
uneven steps, found himself in front of a looking glass, 
in which he regarded himself with all the anxious 
scrutiny and concentrated attention of some vain and 
fascinating beauty, who fears lest her charms should 
be on the wane, and holds every spot or wrinkle as a 
sign of the stealthy, but sure, approach of her most 
ruthless enemy — Time ! 

“ Yes,” he said after some moments spent in ex- 
amining the countenance reflected in the mirror before 
him; “it certainly makes a considerable alteration, 
and when it has grown a little longer it will make 
more. My little girl is always asking me to shave it 
off — says she does not like it — that it makes me look 
much older — that I should be much handsomer with- 
out it, and all sorts of other arguments*.” 

He passed his hand over his chin as he spoke, and 
smoothed down the short beard he wore. 

“She little dreams, poor child!” he added, as he 
turned away from the glass, “ that her father has 
assumed it, not for a purpose of convenience, or be- 
cause he has a fancy for the appendage, but merely as 
a disguise.” 

Then, with his hands behind him, he began to pace 
up and down the room, and as he did so his coun- 
tenance again overclouded and his eyes began again to 
shift restlessly from side to side. 

One Hundred Pounds’ Reward ! One Hundred Pounds’ 
Reward ! Whichever way he turned, wherever his eyes 
rested, he seemed to see that awful announcement 
placarded on walls, ceiling and floor. There was a 
price upon his head, which any member of his house- 
hold, did they but discover his secret, might gain for 
themselves by giving such information as should lead 
to — Pshaw I there it was again. Would he never be 


2G6 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


able to forget what he had read ? The words seemed 
engraven on his brain, branded there in letters of fire. 
One Hundred Pounds’ Eeward ! 

It was a good sum ! enough to set up any one of his 
domestics in a nice little business of their own. If 
they only knew how easily it was to be gained, was 
there one who for a moment would hesitate to lay 
claim to it? One Hundred Pounds’ Reward! 

There was the new man-servant, Edwards was his 
name. The money would help to set him up with a 
public house, or whatever else might represent the 
height of his ambition ; and the business need be none 
the less thriving because it had been purchased with 
the price of blood. Would such a thought deter any- 
one for a moment from 

A little noise without startled him. What was it? 

It sounded as though a hand had been laid upon the 
handle of the door, and instantly withdrawn. Noise- 
lessly and with great care he crept on tiptoe to the 
door, unfastened the lock, and threw it open suddenly. 

There was no one near, only, at the farthest ex- 
tremity of the hall, the new man-s£rvant was busily 
engaged in polishing the glass in the front door. _ 

“ I must have been mistaken,” he concluded, as he 
watched him, as he thought, unobserved, and noticed 
the attention-and thoroughness which the young man 
brought to bear on his task. “ I am getting nervous. 
I shall be seeing ghosts next and end my days in a 
madhouse.” He sighed drearily as he softly closed 
the door. “ How gladly would I put an end to it all 
but for her. But I cannot leave her unprotected, to 
fall a prey, with her face and her fortune, to “the first 
adventurer who might be attracted by the one or 
both.” 

Ah 1 if only the last few months could, come over 


BLOOD MONEY. 


267 


again, how differently he would act. When he first 
landed in the old country, he had but one dread before 
his eyes — exposure of the past, the revelation of that 
blot upon his escutcheon which had then seemed to 
him the worst blow which fate could have in store for 
him. And now, see what had befallen him — what he 
had brought upon himself ! He remembered, too, his 
old friend’s half laughing, half serious proposal, that 
they should make up a match between the families, 
between “ my boy and your girl.” There was an end 
of the arrangement now — for how could the dead 
man’s son marry the daughter of his father’s ? 

He did not finish the sentence, even in his own mind, 
but crossed to a corner of the room, in which stood a 
certain article of furniture, and unlocked a drawer 
therein, which contained two articles. The one he 
took up with a sort of loathing, and yet proceeded to 
examine it curiously. 

“Only one barrel discharged,” he muttered. 
“ Would that the hand that fired that first shot had 
been severed from my body ! ” 

His fingers relaxed; he dropped the first article 
with heavy thud and took up the second. This was a 
very small bottle, containing some colourless fluid, well 
secured. He carefully removed the stopper and 
allowed himself to inhale the odour. 

“A few drops,” he whispered, “and all would be 
over, and there would be oblivion, at least for a 
time, if not for eternity.” He replaced the stopper. 
« Not yet,” he said, “ not yet — only as a last resource.” 

Suddenly he remembered his supposed object 
in seeking- the retirement of his private room : he 
had come there to rest. Rest ! He laughed, a grim, 
harsh, grating laugh. Perhaps it was the sound of 
this outward and audible token of mirth which caused 


268 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


the man Edwards, who was still pursuing, or affecting 
to pursue, some form of employment which brought 
him gradually nearer to the door of the room which 
contained his master, to bend his head and listen. 

“He laughs now, does he?” he muttered. “ I do 
not think he will laugh much longer.” 

He had only just time to move away and resume his 
affected employment, when the good looking parlour- 
maid appeared at the head of the stairs leading to the 
lower regions. 

“ Still busy, Mr. Edwards? ” she remarked, coquet- 
tishly. “I have come to help you lay the cloth for 
lunch. Anything to get away from that Perkins — 
she’s that spiteful and religious, I don’t know how 
ever I’m to put up with her. It ain’t my fault,” she 
added, tossing her head, with a sidelong glance at the 
young man, “ if some folks happen to be better looking 
than other folks. Other folks won’t improve their 
looks by being cantankerous and they’ve no business 
to insult some folks, as are every bit as good — not to 
say better, as would be nearer the truth — as other 
folks, by offering them tracts with such titles as, 
‘ Take Care of Tour Soul and Your Complexion will 
Take Care of Itself,’ or ‘ A Small Waist ; or, The Devil’s 
Staylace.’ ” 

The young man agreed with her that there was 
something unpleasantly personal in this description of 
literature, and the process of laying the cloth went on 
in the most amicable manner. 

“ I’m sure,” continued the parlour maid, as she placed 
a flower-glass at each corner, and contemplated the 
effect languishingly, “it’s a pleasure to think that, 
whatever some folks’ tempers may be, there is one 
fellow-servant, not to mention names, as knows how to 
behave. Not as I’ve anything to say against cook, 


BLOOD MONEY. 


269 


who seems a good sort, but I was not a-referring to 
her, and if” — with a blush and a simper — “ there should 
be any little jobs, as a gentleman is not expected to do 
for himself — such as buttons, or socks — if you will bring 
them to me, I’m sure I shall be most happy.” 

“ You are very kind, I’m sure,” was the answer, 
given with a little embarrassment, “ and I’m exceed- 
ingly obliged to you, Miss — er It is most unpardon- 
able of me, but I really forget the name.” 

“ Joslin,” she replied, “ Miss Joslin. Don’t you re- 
member cook introduced us last night? But” — with a 
melting glance and a seductive wriggle — “my friends ” 
— with a strong emphasis on the word — “call me 
‘ Lizzie.’ ” 

“ I could not think of taking such a liberty, at least, 
until we are better acquainted,” was the modest reply. 
“ At the same time, I hope you will allow me to assist 
you in any way that I possibly can ; I do not like to see 
ladies exert themselves above their strength.” Miss 
Joslin was inclined to pout at the first half of this 
remark, but the latter part restored her complacency. 

“ He’s awful bashful,” she reflected, as she smoothed 
an imaginary wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “ I’ve 
known some, with half the encouragement, that I 
should have had to keep off with my elbow. How- 
ever, his intentions, when he gets ’em, is all the more 
likely to be serious.” 

Meanwhile, to return to the master of the house, 
who had replaced the bottle containing the colourless 
fluid by the side of the other article, and relocked the 
drawer that contained them. After which he resumed 
his pacing up and down. 

“ In spite of all that has happened,” he said to him- 
self, “ I need not give way to despair, or show myself 
a coward, so long as I have those two means of escape 


270 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


left me. I am merely disquieting myself in vain. It 
is impossible that I can have been traced, or that 
anyone will be able to identify me as having travelled 
by a particular train on a particular day, or prove any 
connection between me and the individual wanted.” 

There was a faint tap at the door. 

“What is that?” — he started; then, remembering, 
“No doubt someone come to tell me that luncheon 
waits.” He crossed to the door and laid his hand upon 
the handle. “ My secret is safe yet — safe in my own 
keeping. One Hundred Pounds’ Reward they offer, do 
they ? But the money will never be claimed ; for who 
knows aught of the matter besides myself?” He 
opened the door. “ Who knocked? ” he asked. 

It was the young man of the name of Edwards I 


CHAPTER YI. 


COOK SPEAKS HER MIND. 

IEE,” said the cook, as she rubbed her nose 



-LJ reflectively, “ is like a sausage roll bought at a 
inferior pastry-cook’s — you never knows what you’re 
cornin’ to.” 

“Life,” said the evangelical housemaid, taking up 
the parable, “ is a deal seriouser than that. I’m sur- 
prised at you, cook, as ought to know better at your age.” 

“Mariarann,” answered the cook, cutting herself a 
slice of bread and butter, and taking a bite out of the 
middle, “I’m not a-goin’ to be took to task in' my own 
kitching. As for my age, that’s neither ’ere nor there, 
as thirty - eight is not Methusalem, and pussonal 
remarks is always unladylike, either in the boodore or 
the back scullery. What I did mean to say was,” she 
continued, folding her arms and looking volumes at the 
kettle-holder, “ as I’ve bin ’ere now goin’ on for two 
months and not a single foot ’as there bin inside this 
door, in the shape of company ; which I’ve not bin used 
to no sich ways; not” — with an air of strict imparti- 
ality — “as I’ve any faults to find with the place, beyond 
the want of sussiety. The wages is good, the livin’ all 
you could wish, no pokin’ nor pryin’ ; and Miss Hagnes 
— bless ’er ! — a hangel, if ever there was one on this 
earth, and I don’t care ” — defiantly — “ who says to the 
contrary.” 

Nobody seemed inclined to take up the challenge thus 
thrown down, but the housemaid, with a tightening of 
her thin lips, directed a curious glance towards the 


271 


272 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


young man, who gave neither word nor hint to show 
whether he agreed, or not, with the judgment just pro- 
nounced. Perhaps it was this same apparent indiffer- 
ence which caused the young woman to bite her under- 
lip viciously and turn away as though baffled. 

“ You don’t think, though, as there’s anything wrong 
here, do you, cook ? ” inquired the other young woman, 
delicately balancing her saucer on her outstretched 
thumb and fingers. 

“ I never said nothink of the kind,” was the enigma- 
tical reponse. “But I’ve had a deal of eggsperients. 
Bless you ! I’ve lived with all sorts since I first went as 
kitching-maid in a family where the ladies was all 
Plymouth Brethering; but never ’ave I lived in a 
place where the rates and taxes was the only callers. 
Oh, it’s a shame, I calls it. There’s that Miss Hagnes, 
as pretty as a picter’, mopin’ upstairs in ’er room, and 
not so much as the glimpse of a young man cornin’ 
near the place to liven her up. ’Ow’s she to get 
married at this rate, I wanter know? ” 

The young man at the foot of the table seemed a 
little stirred from his ordinary outward immobility by 
this tirade. Bid he, too, agree with the cook that it 
was a shame that his young mistress should be thug 
cut off, as it were, from the matrimonial possibilities 
which might otherwise be supposed to lie before her ? 

Was it this or some other feeling that caused that 
curiously blank expression to settle down upon his face, 
as though some hitherto unforeseen disaster had just 
occurred to him .? 

Whatever the source of his sudden despondency, it 
evidently afforded the serious housemaid a certain 
amount of vicious satisfaction, as she observed him 
furtively from behind her teacup ; else why should she 
indulge in the ghost of a sniff, or give utterence under 


273 


COOK SPEAKS HER MIND. 

her breath to the remark, “ Serve ’im right ” ? What 
had he done to incur her resentment, and what was it 
that served him right? “ She ought to marry a dook, 
at least,” continued the cook, with her head on one 
side, as though mentally reviewing the British Peerage. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the housemaid, as though for 
once agreeing with her, “ and why not ? ” 

Cook, after manifesting some little natural surprise 
at meeting with this unexpected ally, helped herself to a 
slice of seed cake, and responded, “ And as you say, 
Mariarann, why not ? ” 

“It ain’t to be supposed for a minnit that she’d 
marry beneath her,” continued the other, pursuing her 
advantage, still with that furtive glance from under 
her eye-lids, in the direction of the young man. 

“ Marry beneath ’erj ” exclaimed the cook. “ Why, 
what can you be thinkin’ of ? ” 

“Then,” continued the housemaid, triumphantly, 
and with a disagreeable expression lurking about the 
corners of her mouth, “ why shouldn’t she marry one 
of the real aristocracy ? ” 

“ Because, Mariarann,” answered the cook, brushing 
the crumbs out of her lap, “because the harristock- 
racy is the same as others. It don’t matter a bit 
whether a man’s a dook, or a nerle, or a plain mister, 
'e must ’ave ’is hoppertoonities, and unless arst to tea, 
or invited to spend the hevenin’ and bring 'is music, 
'ow’s ’e to ’ave ’em? Things must ’ave a beginning 
even if it’s only squeezin’ ’er ’and under the table cloth, 
or lookin’ sweet and treadin’ on ’er toe, while ’e talks 
about the weather to ’er pa. Dooks is all very well in 
their way, and, as far as I’m concerned, I’d like our 
Miss Hagnes to ’ave ’er pick, but you can’t eggspeckt 
any results unless they’re arst to drop in, in a friendly 
way, whenever they 'appens to be passim’ 


18 


274 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


“ No,” said the parlour maid, “ of course not, and I 
only wish the master could hear you speak your mind 
•plain, as you’ve just done.” 

Cook, without denying the justice of this remark, 
shook her head. “ I ’ave my doubts as to whether it 
’ud make any halteration in ’im. Some folks is that 
blind to their own interesses.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the housemaid, seizing, as it were, 
on this point, “ some folks may be blind, but others 
isn’t, and can see a inch or two beyond their noses, 
though some folks mayn’t be aware of it.” This 
apparently purposeless remark was delivered with 
much concentrated venom, and the young man, who 
had- been silent during the preceding conversation, 
moved in his seat uneasily under the basilisk glance 
which he felt was bent upon him. 

“ Talking of the master,” said the parlour maid, 
picking up the dropped thread of the conversation ; 
“ didn’t I hear as he had come from abroad? ” 

<r Ameriky,” answered the cook. “I ’ad it from 
Miss Hagnes ’erself. P’r’aps,” she went on, sinking 
hervoice into a mysterious whisper, “that’s the reason 
why ’e’s keepin’ of ’imself dark.” 

“ Lor’, cookl ” from the parlour maid, “ why, what 
ever do you mean ? ” 

Cook gave a cautious glance round her, which took 
in the cupboards and the dark corner behind the 
dresser. “ P’r’aps,” she said, leaning her elbows on 
the tea tray, with the air of one who is about to make 
a confidential statement, which it might be inadvisable, 
not to say dangerous, to have bruited abroad, “p’r’aps 
’e’s got another wife and fam’ly out there, and is afraid 
of ’em findin’ ’im out and cornin’ down on ’im.” 

“ Lor’, cook ! ” 

She nodded her head sapiently, and then shook it in 


COOK SPEAKS HER MIND. 


275 


a way that was decidedly impressive, if slightly con- 
fusing. “I’ve knowed sich things,” she said; “hin 
fact, I’ve lived six months in a place where the master 
was persecuted for big Amy ! ” 

The parlour maid sighed enviously. “ You have been 
lucky ! N o w, I’ve never had a chance like that — I wish I 
had; though once” — brightening a little — “I hadalmost 
forgot ! but I did live next door but one to a forgery ! ” 
“ Forgeries ! ” exclaimed the cook, with good natured 
contempt ; “ why, I’ve ’ad ’em in- the same ’ouse with 
me — likewise hembezzlements, not to menshun bank- 
rupcies and bills of sale; halso one helopement and 
two cases of libel.” 

“And do you really think,” inquired the parlour 
maid, hopefully, “ that the master’s really been and 
gone and committed what-d’ye-call-it ? ” 

“Well,” answered the cook, cautiously hedging with 
a view to unforeseen contingencies, “ I don’t altogether 
go for to say as ’e ’ave ; only there’s a somethink in ’is 
eye, sometimes, as reminds me of that there case as 
I’ve jest menshuned.” 

“But,” said the parlour maid, suddenly giving way 
to low spirits, “ Miss Agnes’ ma’s dead ! ” 

“ Lor’, now,” said the cook, sympathizingly, “ if I 
’adn’t clean forgotten it 1 There now, I’m sorry I 
menshuned it, for it do ’elp to make a situation interes- 
tin’, and I’m all ’art, like a summer cabbidge.” 

The other two people present seemed to have quite 
dropped out of the conversation. But when the meal 
was over and the young man betook himself to the 
performance of those duties which still remained to 
him, he found the woman Perkins close behind 
him. 

“Always hanging about on the chance of catching 
sight of her 1” she sneered. 


18 —? 


270 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“What do you mean?” he asked, turning round on 
her sharply, with a frown. 

“ What do I mean ? ” she repeated. “ Oh, you know 
well enough what I mean. It’s no use your pretending 
to be innocent. You won’t deceive me. I’ve had my 
eye on you for some time, Mr. Edwards, and I know 
which way the wind blows. So your fellow- servants 
aren’t good enough for you ? Though that hussy of a 
parlour maid flatters herself as it’s her as you’re in love 
with ; but I know better. You’re looking higher than 
that, you are. I know why you’re always hanging 
about the hall and staircase when you might be 
enjoying the company of your equals. It’s because 
you’re in bve with your master’s daughter / — that’s 
why ! ” And she flung herself away in wrath. Once 
she looked back, but he was still standing in the same 
place, with a look of something like horror on his face 
— as of a man who suddenly wakes to find himself on 
the brink of a precipice. 







CHAPTER VII. 

.EXTRACTS PROM A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY — CONTINUED. 

“ XT is a long time since I have written anything in 
my poor diary. But to-night I do not feel inclined 
to sleep, and so will devote an hour to filling up a few 
more pages. Since I last wrote, several things have 
happened. Unfortunately, they have not been pleasant 
things. In fact, I am beginning to think that, after all, 
leaving school for good is not quite the delightful ex- 
perience I had always believed it to be. If it did not 
sound altogether too wicked and ungrateful, I should 
be inclined to say that I wished myself back there again. 
For if I had but little gaiety, at least I had peace of 
mind, which even French verbs could not entirely 
destroy. 

“At first, when we came to live here, everything 
seemed charming, and I thought I should have 
nothing whatever to do but enjoy myself from 
morning till night. Of course, it is most foolish and 
unreasonable of me to imagine such a thing; but, 
looking back through my diary it seems to me that 
everything began to go wrong from the time that we 
put that advertisement in the paper for a man-servant; 
and, out of all those who applied for the situation, my 
father engaged that man, Edwards who, for some 
reason or other, seems to be our evil genius — if anyone 
believes in such a thing existing out of the Arabian 
Nights. To begin with, there was that tray of glass 
he smashed the morning after his arrival, when he 
first startled me by looking at me so strangely. I 
277 


278 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


have not heard of his breaking anything since, and to 
tell the truth, cook, who is the most important 
personage in this house, speaks most highly of him in 
every way, and seems quite to have forgotten what 
little prejudice she had against him at one time. For 
all that, I have not been able to get over my first 
impression concerning him. I do not mean to say 
that I still regard him as a dangerous lunatic — what I 
do mean is that he seems to have brought trouble 
into the house, and I am haunted by a presentiment 
with r:. :ct to him, which I cannot understand or 
explain away. 

“ To go back to what ha r n ed after his first appear- 
ance — I must not forget to include that sudden and 
alarming illness which attacked my father in the street, 
close to the police station, on the very same day after 
this man’s arrival, and concerning which he consented, 
after some persuasion, to consult an eminent physician. 
I do not know what the result of the consultation was, 
beyond the fact that he was told to avoid all excite- 
ment, and that he takes some dark looking medicine. 
It is meet unjust and absurd of me to attribute all this 
to the influence of the man Edwards, but it is really 
most remarkable the effect which he seems to have 
upon me. I can always tell when he is anywhere near, 
and I know, before I look round, when he comes into 
the same room with me, though I do not suppose that 
anyone besides the girls at school would believe this. 
Another result of his presence — at least, so cook tells 
me, is that both Perkins, the housemaid, and Joslin, 
the parlour maid, have fallen in love with him, and can’t 
speak to each other without quarrelling in consequence. 

“ I asked her (cook), in confidence, which he seemed 
to prefer ? And_she said that was the strange part of 
it, he didn’t seem to care a pin for either ; though no one 


A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY— CONTINUED. 279 


could deny that Lizzie Joslin was a fine looking girl. 
I was rather glad to hear this ; for, in spite of the 
peculiar and indescribable feeling that I have with re- 
gard to him, he certainly seems, as far as manners and 
appearances go, a very superior young man. I have 
never heard him drop an ‘h’ but once, and then it 
seemed to me that, for some reason or other, he did it 
purposely. Cook says that Perkins (that is the house- 
maid) made up to him tremendously at first, tried to 
get him to go to chapel with her, and wanted to lend 
him good books, and, as she put it, save him as a 
brand from the burning. Now, all at once, cook says, 
she seems to have turned round upon him, out of spite, 
because he wouldn’t have anything to do with her be- 
yond the most ordinary civility, and is always hinting 
at something to his discredit — says that he has ideas 
above his station — that pride will have a fall, and that 
some day he will be found out and sent about his busi- 
ness with a month’s wages and no character. But for 
all that, cook says she’s as jealous as she can possibly 
be, and is always following him about and spying on 
him. I can’t bear that young woman Perkins, and 
shall take good care that the next housemaid we have 
is not an evangelical one. I don’t like the look of her, 
with her pale narrow face, and I don’t like the way she 
steals about the house, so that you are always finding 
her close behind you when you least expect it. I also 
very much dislike her habit of leaving tracts, evidently 
intended for my perusal, on the dressing table.” 

“ I found one there only this morning, entitled, * Look 
Behind the Looking Glass ; or, Beauty is but Skin 
Deep.’ Cook, when I mentioned it, said, ‘ it was just 
like her imperence,’ but ‘ what could you eggspect of a 
person as was that howdacious as to tell her (cook) 
that she would pray for her, that she might be led to 


280 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


see the error of her ways.’ Cook told her that she had 
better not let her catch her at it, that was all. I sup- 
pose it is far from proper for me to talk to cook, and 
allow her to talk to me, in the way I do. But then, 
I have always been used to have all the girls to talk to, 
and now there is nobody at all, except my father, and 
he often shuts himself up for hours in his own room, 
and I am glad to fall back upon cook, or anyone ; and 
she really is a great source of amusement to me, with 
her experiences and her sayings. But to return to the 
young man. I had quite made up my mind, some time 
ago, that I would persuade my father to send him off 
at the end of the month ; but now that time has gone 
by, and he is still here. The fact was, when I came 
to investigate my reasons, I found that they were very 
hard to state in words, and I could not expect my 
father to send away one whom he considered a very civil, 
obliging young fellow, who was not above turning his 
hand to anything, just because his presence in the 
house made me uncomfortable. I did refer once or 
twice to my original fear as to his being not quite right 
in his head, but he seemed to think the notion was too 
ridiculous to be entertained for a moment ; and though, 
perhaps, if I had insisted upon the point, he would 
have humoured me to the extent of giving him notice 
to leave, I know that he would have thought me very 
childish and unreasonable. Indeed, since then I have 
had reason myself to change my mind in this respect, 
and the only other excuse I should have been able to 
gi-we would have been — the way in which he looks at 
me ! I do not mean to imply that there is anythin - 
insulting in his behaviour. It is only that, whatever: 
he may happen to be doing at the time, either waiting 
at table, or anything else, whenever I look u] T find 
his eyes fixed on me with that strange, haunting look, 


A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY —CONTINUED. 281 


which is instantly withdrawn, but which seems to 
remind me of something in the past, which I try to 
recall, but cannot. And this brings me to the chief 
source of my perplexity. I am perfectly certain that I 
have seen his face somewhere before. I don’t know 
where, or how long ago, or under what circumstances, 
but the fact remains. I have seen him before and, 
what is more, I do not think it can have been long since. 

“ I have turned the matter over and over again in my 
mind, thinking to come upon the answer to the difli- 
culty, but it is no use. Once or twice I have felt as 
though I were almost on the point of solving the 
mystery — for it is a mystery — and then, in a second, I 
have lost the clue which I seemed to hold, and found 
myself just where I was before. 

“ He is quite a young man — twenty-two I think was 
what he gave his age to be, though he looks older — and 
cook says (I appear to be always quoting her) that, for 
all his obligingness, she does not think that he can have 
had much experience before he came here, as he seemed 
decidedly awkward, not to say stupid, at first ; but since 
he has been under her has improved wonderfully. 

“ I have noticed his hands, too, and they are not at 
all like those of a common person. Of course the girls 
at school would say directly that he was a prince in 
disguise, who (I am really ashamed to write it ; but, as 
no one will ever see the contents of this diary but 
myself, what does it matter ?) had fallen in love with 
me and disguised himself and submitted to any sort of 
degradation so as to be near me. This is what the 
girls at school would say — at least, some of them — and 
perhaps I might have been silly enough to believe such 
a thing once, but I am far too sensible and sedate to 
allow myself to indulge in any such ridiculous notions 
now, and, as a proof, I will not write another word on 


282 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


the subject, or trouble myself any more about the 
fancied resemblance to someone else which puzzles 

me so much in this young man. For the future I 

“ I left off abruptly here, and since writing that last 
sentence, have bad what cook would call an experience. 

“ I thought I heard someone creeping softly past my 
door. 

“ It was just ten minutes past twelve by my watch — 
a shockingly late hour for me to be sitting up writing — 
and, although the house had been quiet for some time, 
I do not know that I should have thought much of it, 
if it had not been for something so very stealthy in the 
sound. Whoever it was, seemed to be taking such 
elaborate pains not to be heard. 

“For a moment I nearly fainted, as I thought of 
burglars ; but in another moment it had struck me that 
in all probability, it was one of the servants, who had 
been sitting up late and was afraid of disturbing anyone. 
Only — as I listened, holding my breath — it seemed to 
me that the footsteps were creeping down the stairs to 
the floor below, and not ascending to the one above. 

“ ‘ Now,’ I thought to myself, * you have always been 
wishing for an opportunity to prove yourself -a heroine 
— here’s the opportunity ready to your hand. Don’t 
shirk it, or you may never get another. So, with 
what I can’t help thinking was great presence of mind, 
I put out the light, and opened my bedroom door ever 
so softly. It was all in darkness and, for some seconds, 
there was not the faintest sound of any kind. Then 
I almost screamed, for I heard someone breathing 
quite close to me. But I remembered that my father’s 
room was on the same floor, and that any shock or 
excitement was bad for him, and so, in a very shaky 
voice, I asked, ‘ Who’s there ? ’ 

“ To my surprise, to say nothing of relief, the an- 


A YOUNG LADY'S DIARY-CONTINUED. 2>3 


swer, in an unmistakably feminine voice, was : * It’s 
only me, miss — Perkins.’ 

“ * Oh ! ’ I cried with intense gratitude at finding my 
fears were vain, ‘ that’s all right.’ Then, recovering 
my dignity, I assumed an air of becoming severity, 
and asked, ‘ And pray what are you doing here at this 
time of night, after everyone is in bed? or ought to 
be,’ I added, remembering my own failing in this respect. 

I felt her draw a little nearer to me in the darkness. 

** * I thought I heard something — same as you did, 
miss — and my duty to the family would not allow me 
to rest until I had found out what it was.’ 

'* It was a strange thing, but I seemed to dislike her 
more than ever as she said this, instead of being 
pleased at such a remarkable instance of devotion to 
our interests. There appeared to me to be something 
so false in her voice. 

“ ‘ You don’t think it is anyone got into the house, 
do you ? ’ I asked ; ‘ because, if so, you had better call 
up Edwards.’ 

“ * That’s the queer part of it, miss,’ she whispered 
right in my ear. * I did call him — leastways was going 
to— but he’s not in his room ! ’ 

“ For an instant all my old fears with regard to this 
strange young man returned. Perhaps he had gone 
to fetch the carving-knife prior to murdering us all in 
our beds ? Just then I heard the sound of someone 
striking a match below, and something in the sound 
reassured me. He would not want a light to cut our 
throats by ; he could do that in the dark, by the feel. 

“ The housemaid, Perkins, came close to me again. 

“ ‘ What is he doing with a light ? ’ I heard her mut- 
ter to herself. ‘ Oh, he’ll be nicely caught this time ! ’ 

“ There were some very faint sounds below, and 
then the light began to move. Evidently the person 


2P4 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


carrying it was coming upstairs. I felt Perkins grasp 
my arm in fear, or excitement, or something. The 
next moment the man Edwards came into sight, stealing 
up the staircase, carrying a candle in one hand ; the 
other was hidden in the pocket of his coat. He gave 
a smothered exclamation as he caught sight of us both 
standing there, and — either it was the light of the. 
candle, or he turned deadly pale. 

* ‘ ‘ Edwards, ’ I said, trying to speak quite calmly, * what 
are you doing downstairs ? Is anything the matter ? ’ 

“ For a second he seemed unable to speak ; evidently 
our unexpected appearance had startled him as much 
as he had us. 

“‘I hope — I trust I have not alarmed you?’ he 
said, as soon as he had recovered himself, and with, I 
fancied, a quick, angry glance at the housemaid, 
Perkins. ‘But — I thought — I seemed to remember, 
after I had gone upstairs, that I had omitted to fasten 
the side door, and ’ 

“It was nothing, after all, then. ‘And was it all 
right ? ’ j asked. 

“ ‘ Quite so, miss,’ he answered, respectfully, and 
with his eyes on the ground. ‘ It was merely a mis- 
take on my part. I am sorry that I disturbed anyone. 
I thought I took every precaution against doing so.’ 

“ I happened to look at the housemaid. She was 
biting her lip in what looked like a fury of rage or 
disappointment. 

“ Then ‘ Good night,’ I said. 

“ * Good night, miss,’ from both. 

“ I went into my room, re-lit the gas and finished 
my writing. It was very strange that just when I 
had resolved to say, or think nothing more about this 
young man, that this should happen, to set my mind 
running on him again.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


EXTRACT FROM THE DIARY OF THE YOUNG MAN OF 
THE NAME OF EDWARDS. 

“ fT^HAT odious woman has opened my eyes, which 
-L I have been keeping so persistently closed. 

“ * You are in love with your master’s daughter,’ she 
said, and, instead of flinging the words back at her, with 
an angry denial of the accusation, I stood there stupidly, 
and let her quit me without a syllable of defence or 
contradiction. Why ? Because I knew it was the truth. 

“ I might have known it all along if I had only had 
the honesty and courage to put the question to myself. 
Now that I have set myself resolutely to examine my 
own conscience concerning all that has gone before, I 
am almost inclined to believe that I have, unwittingly, 
perhaps, been in love with her ever since I first saw 
her at the Royal Academy. 

“ ‘ The girl with the cornflowers,' my sister called 
her. If this were not the case, what made me nearly 
betray myself when I next saw her descending the stair- 
case of the house in which I at present occupy a menial 
position ? 

“ It seemed to me when I first caught sight of the 
advertisement in the newspaper, that no more fortu- 
nate combination of circumstances could possibly have 
arisen, nor any which might afford better opportunities 
for prosecuting the discoveries I hoped to make. To 
be in the same house — under the same roof with the 
man I believed — I knew to be my father’s murderer, 
in any capacity whatever, seemed to me to be worth 


2 6 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


any sacrifice. To have daily and hourly possibilities 
of studying the man, of observing the main points of 
his character, of marking all his actions and noting 
down the words which fell from his lips, of dogging his 
footsteps, prying into his concerns, and finally hunting 
him down and handing him over to justice without 
pity or remorse — all this seemed to me a matter of the 
most vital importance, and one to be carried out 
without a moment’s doubt or hesitation, as to the high 
motive which actuated me in its accomplishment. Now 
I am often inclined to curse the day on which I entered 
these doors, as well as the motive which inspired me. 

“ After having voluntarily separated myself for an 
indefinite period from my family, pursuits and proper 
station in life, I find myself torn asunder by conflict- 
ing feelings ; urged on in my scheme of retribution by 
one power, and restrained from the accomplishing of 
it by another equally powerful. 

“ How can I let the murderer of my loved and 
honoured father escape ? How can I hand over the 
parent of the girl I adore to the hangman ? 

“ The recollection of my vow drives me on, and the 
thought of that sweet, innocent being draws me back ; 
so that I suffer perpetual torments, inspired by the 
battle which rages within me. 

“I came here for a particular purpose, which purpose 
remains unfulfilled. Once, I had firmly resolved not to 
spare him. That was when I heard him l$,ugh to him- 
self through the closed door. That laugh seemed to 
me, as I listened without, to be the hollow mirth of a 
fiend, gloating over his successful iniquities. Nothing, 
I swore, should make me falter in my determination to 
hasten his doom by whatever means might lie in my 
power. 

“An hour afterwards, looking at his daughter’s bloom- 


EXTRACT FROM EDWARDS' DIARY. 287 


ing face, I forgot my great purpose^ and remembered 
only that I was young and her equal by birth. 

“Then, as she looked up and caught my presumptuous 
gaze fixed upon her, she directed upon me a glance 
full of indignant surprise, before which mine perforce 
sank in humility, and, with respectful solicitude, I 
proffered her — potatoes 1 

“ I have been here six weeks and I have done nothing 
beyond making the discovery that whatever secret — 
whatever proof exists, as it must, of that man’s guilt 
lies hidden behind one closed door. A door which is 
always locked and which belongs to the room which 
is sacred to the master of the house. In this room he 
spends the greater part of the day; though how he 
employs himself I do not know ; but, doubtless, in 
some locked drawer, or other hiding place, I should 
find — could I but once penetrate there — the weapon 
with which the infamous crime was committed. 

“ But, to go back a little way. It was the advertise- 
ment in the newspaper which originated the plan I am 
now engaged in carrying out. Somehow it attracted 
my eye. I saw the words, * Man-servant Wanted,’ 
and then, my glance travelled on and was caught and 
held by the concluding words, ‘ apply personally 
between the hours of five and six, to J. Ferrers, Esq., 
Belmont House, Hampstead.’ 

‘ ‘ That name of all names — the name which I had 
found written upon the back of that old faded photo- 
graph — the name which had been inscribed upon the 
visitor’s book at the hotel at Dover I 

“ The address, too, was the same as that to which the 
detective, I had employed, had traced the luggage 
marked ‘ J. F.,’ which had been sent on direct from 
Dover, by the passenger who had crossed from Calais 
by the morning boat, and had put up at the ‘Lord 


288 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Warden,’ where he had engaged a private room, in 
which he had received the friend from London. 

“The stupendous idea of applying myself for the 
situation, and trusting to chance for the rest, presented 
itself to me in a flash. 

“The only person I took into my confidence was 
Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright, and his speechless astonish- 
ment, on that particular occasion, I never shall forget. 
He is the only person who is acquainted with my 
present address — my mother and sister have not the 
least idea of my whereabouts; though, I think the 
latter has some suspicions as to the object of my 
prolonged absence from home. 

“ So I shaved off my moustache, and, attired in a 
suit of ready-made clothes, presented myself between 
the hours of five and six, as specified in the advertise- 
ment. I saw J. Ferrers, Esq., my father’s old friend 
— and murderer, and gave no sign of the passion that 
was boiling within me, as I observed his grave 
gentlemanly exterior and listened to his calm, measured 
tones. 

“I tried to forget my real personality and, like 
a clever actor on the stage, merge it in the part I had 
assumed. He interrogated me on the subject of my 
abilities, and I answered him with lies, and kept a 
smooth countenance as I conjured up his face as it 
must have appeared at the moment when he placed the 
muzzle of the weapon to his victim’s temple. His 
right hand lay upon the table and trifled with the 
articles before him. It was well cared for, and orna- 
mented with a massive signet ring, but looked as 
though it had not always lain idle. It was long and 
muscular, and I felt myself looking at it with a sort 
of fascination. It was the hand that pulled the trigger ! 

“ And all the time I was most careful to git on the 


EXTRACT FROM EDWARDS' DIARY. 289 


extreme edge of the seat which I had been invited to 
take, and tried in every way to act up, 'or rather down, 
to my part. He professed himself satisfied with my 
answers, inquired my name and age, and said he 
would write to the address I gave for my character. I 
need hardly say the answer he received was satisfac- 
tory. It stated that I was honest, sober, diligent and 
of decent parentage, all which items were quite correct in 
their way ; but, for all that, I am here under a false 
character. I had nothing to do with this part of the 
business beyond taking the risk ; it was all arranged by 
Sharp. Of course I was fully aware of the danger I 
was incurring, and at first it seemed to me that at any 
moment I might be discovered and denounced as an 
impostor. 

“ But though for a day or two I must have shown 
myself most unaccountably awkward, by keeping my 
eyes open and having my wits well about me, I 
managed to get along without any serious mishaps ; and 
though I may have had an occasional sharp word from 
cook, still, on the whole, she was very good to me, and 
now seems to have taken me quite under her protection. 

“ The parlour maid, too, though she will insist on 
looking sentimental, and giving me to understand very 
plainly that she is at present disengaged, and willing to 
allow me the honour of walking out with her, is not at 
all a bad hearted girl in the main, in spite of her vanity. 

“It is the housemaid, Perkins, who is a perpetual 
thorn in my flesh. She, too, at first showed herself 
inclined to take up with me and, with a view of fitting 
me for the position, undertook my conversion on the 
spot. Finding her attentions growing altogether too 
pronounced to be pleasant, I was forced to shake her 
off, and, that, perhaps, not too gently. Since then, she 
has shown herself my enemy in a hundred little ways ; 

19 


290 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


and I believe that if any untimely discovery of my fraud 
takes place, it will be 'mainly owing to her instrumen- 
tality. As it is, she has already obtained possession 
of one of my secrets. 

“ How long will she be content to keep the know- 
ledge of it to herself, I wonder ? And, knowing all this, 
how is it that I am content to allow day after day to 
slip away without taking any further steps to attain 
my chief object ? 

“It is not that, for a single second, doubt has taken 
possession of me as to this man’s guilt. Every day but 
serves to add to my conviction — my certainty that I 
am dwelling under the same roof with my father’s secret 
assassin. And yet I do not strike ! I am positive 
that could I but gain access to his private room, I 
should there light upon something — perchance the one 
link which is wanting to complete the chain of evidence 
which I am forging ; and still I hesitate and put it off 
from day to day. One reason is that to effect my pur- 
pose, I must break in like a thief in the night, I must 
either pick the lock, or else obtain another key which 
will fit it ; and now that I have an avowed adversary 
in the household, my task has become tenfold more 
difficult than before. That woman, with her pale, 
crafty face and thin lips, always dropping venomous or 
sanctimonious remarks, is perpetually at my elbow, 
and spies upon me just as I, in my turn, spy upon 
another. Not that I fear difficulties; the more obstacles 
in the way, the more I am stimulated to draw upon my 
resources to overcome them. It is not that which 
has held me back. It is the knowledge that I cannot 
strike the one without the other — that the infamy of 
the parent must blight for ever the bright existence of 
the child. And yet sometimes I lose sight of the softer 
feeling in the wild craving for vengeance. It was but 


EXTRACT FROM EDWARDS ’ DIARY. 


291 


this morning that being present in my ordinary subor- 
dinate capacity at the breakfast table, engaged in 
ministering to the appetite of the individual I hate and 
abhor above every other living being, some words of 
my own, which I had once made use of to Dr. Cartwright, 
occurred to me, to the effect that criminals, or those 
about to pay the final penalty exacted by the law, 
frequently make a very good breakfast on the morning 
appointed for their execution ; and I found myself 
wondering what the man on whom I was now waiting 
would choose for his last meal on earth. Gradually I 
worked myself up into a condition of safrvge fury. I 
felt as though I could have flown at his throat, as he 
sat there, outwardly so impassive, and quite oblivious 
of the fact that he was in the immediate presence of 
one who had sworn to hunt him down, and had not 
scrupled to resort to the most humiliating method, in 
order to insure success. And then — I looked at Her ! — 
and all the struggle began over again. 

“ I have never before dared to put all this into words. 
I have blamed my procrastination and instability of 
purpose upon other causes. But now that that woman 
has dared to hold up the secret of my inmost heart 
right before my eyes — now that I have been forced to 
acknowledge the justice of her insolent but truthful 
accusation — now that there is no possibility of dis- 
guising the fact, or of paltering with my conscience any 
longer — what is to be done next ? 

“ Since writing the above confession, I have made a 
firm resolution. I have called up in my memory the 
image of my father, full of health and vigour, loved and 
respected by all who knew him, generous and upright, 
and pleasant to look upon, a man who never did an 
unkind action or spoke an evil word, whose life, in as 
far as it is possible in this world, was blameless in the 

19—2 


292 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


sight of all. Yet he was cut off in the fulness of his 
prime, and died a death which would only have befitted 
a malefactor of the deepest dye. He had a daughter, 
too, and she was left fatherless. Let me dwell upon 
this thought for a short space, and then proceed to put 
nto action the plan which I have conceived, and the 
first step towards the carrying out of which I will take 
this very night before I sleep. 

“ Now, at least, at this hour I may feel sure of being 
free from the watchful and malevolent curiosity of the 
woman Perkins. It is nearly ten minutes past twelve 
o’clock. Everyone has retired to rest some time ago. 
There is neither sound nor movement of any kind in 
the house. I will put out my light and steal softly 
downstairs to the door of the room, in which the master 
of the house spends so much of his time. Even if I am 
discovered, which I hardly fear, it will be easy to find 
some excuse to account for my wandering about the 
house at so late an hour. I am going to commit a most 
felonious action, but I do not feel any shame, and this 
time I am resolved not to be hindered in my purpose 
by any feelrng whatever. What is more, I am con- 
vinced that, having once taken a step in the right 
direction, I shall find my path plainer and easier to 
pursue, and shall continue the course I have decided 
on firmly to the end. 

“ I believe I am the only wakeful person in the house, 
unless an evil conscience keeps its master from sleep. 
I can hear cook snoring loud and deep through the 
partition wall. I am going to take an impression in 
ivax of the keyhole of that room.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE DIARY — CONTINUED. 

6 6 T HAVE just returned to my room, having accom- 
-1- plished my purpose ; but having sustained a 
shock which has almost succeeded in undoing all my 
resolutions, and which will render sleep an impossi- 
bility, if not altogether, at anyrate for many hours to 
come. 

“I followed out my programme to the letter, and 
creeping down the stairs and past the door of Her 
room, found myself in the dark and empty hall. Then 
I paused and listened, for I fancied I heard a door 
softly opened and shut above. For at least five minutes 
I remained without moving, and almost without 
breathing. Perhaps it was my own door which I had 
left unfastened? Perhaps I was mistaken, and the 
sound existed only in my imagination? My senses 
were overwrought, and I was in a condition to imagine 
anything. All was perfectly quiet — as quiet as the 
grave ! I might proceed to work in safety and without 
fear of surprise. I had provided myself with matches 
and a candle, and struck one of the former as noise- 
lessly as I could. But, for all my precaution, the 
thing ignited with a splutter and made more noise 
than I had calculated upon. Still, it was not likely 
that anyone would notice such a sound on the floor 
above. The faint light which the candle gave made 
the place seem darker and emptier than ever. The 
wide, handsome staircase seemed to creak beneath 
the tread of invisible feet, or else something made 
293 


294 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


coward of me, so that I was ready to conjure up phan- 
toms out of every corner. I recalled my strange 
experiences in the past — experiences which science, in 
the form of Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright, might scoff at 
and explain away to its own satisfaction, but not to 
mine. I listened again ; but there was nothing. 

“ I held my lump of wax, ready prepared, in my 
hand and was about to apply it, when I saw some- 
thing lying at my feet ! Something dark red ! 

“ In my then nervous and excited condition, it seemed 
to me like a patch of blood, and the hand with which I 
held the candle trembled so that the light danced and 
quivered before my eyes, and thus some seconds 
elapsed before I recognized that it was only a half 
fallen rose, the scattered petals of which had completed 
the resemblance and took the form of drops of blood. 

“ I knew the rose. I had seen it worn in the front of 
a white dress earlier that same evening. I went down on 
my knees and gathered it up, together with every stray 
petal, and I held it in my hand while I took the im- 
pression of the keyhole. 

“ All this, as it is written, seems to have been an 
affair of time ; but, in reality, it only occupied minutes. 

“ Then, having accomplished my design, I turned 
towards the staircase, and with the remains of the 
rose still clutched in one hand, began to make the 
ascent as stealthily as I had the descent. I gained 
the first floor and was paralyzed to find myself con- 
fronted by two female figures — one my master’s 
daughter, the other my enemy, Perkins 1 The sight 
forced an exclamation from my lips and the candle 
almost fell from my grasp. Was I discovered? Then 
I made an effort and recovered somewhat of my 
presence of mind, and, taking advantage of the first 
excuse which presented itself, explained the occurrence 


THE DIARY-CONTINUED. 


295 


by another falsehood. What mattered one, more or 
less, after the tissue of lies in which I had volun- 
tarily enveloped myself? She accepted my excuse; 
then wished us both * good night ’ and went back to 
her room, leaving me face to face with the other 
woman, who was wrapped in a long cloak and had 
evidently risen from her bed to spy upon me. She, I 
could see, put n o faith in my account of the circum- 
stance which had taken me downstairs at that hour, 
and eyed me vindictively and in silence, as though 
hoping that I might thus be drawn to incriminate 
myself. 

“ Fortunately I had the hand which contained the 
rose hidden in the pocket of my coat ; which pocket 
also contained the impression which I had just taken 
in wax. 

“ ‘ You may have deceived her,' she said, at last, as 
I tried to pass her, * but you don’t'deceive me. I heard 
you steal downstairs like a thief and should have 
found out the truth but for her opening her door and 
stopping me.' 

“ ‘ Let me pass,’ I said. ‘ At least it is no business 
of yours.’ 

“‘But I’ll make it my business,’ she answered, 
following me upstairs ; * and I’ll find out what you’re 
up to, as sure as my name’s Maria Ann Perkins ! ’ 

“I got rid of her at last and reached my own 
room. 

“ How lovely she looked ! Pale and rather frightened 
— and my heart smote me as I realized that this was 
my doing — and yet, her father killed my father and 
she has a murderer’s blood in her veins. Never let me 
forget that. Surely, if I keep this thought always 
prominently before me, I shall be able to get the 
better of this mad infatuation which possesses me? 


296 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ I wonder if they are all well at home? I say all 
— but there are only two left now. Every day I search 
the agony column in the Standard newspaper, which, 
according to my own arrangement, was to be the sole 
means of communication between us, and that only in 
the view of some pressing necessity. 

“ But there has been no sign yet, and I trust there 
may not be ; at least, until my work here is done. 

“ Oh, that I had never begun it ! or else had brought 
it to completion I Sometimes, when I look at this man 
— my master, as he is under the present condition of 
affairs — I cannot but notice the change which seems to 
have gradually taken place in him, even during the 
comparatively short time which has elapsed since I 
first came to this house. Is it physical or mental? Is 
it bodily illness, or remorse which is ploughing the lines 
of care or suffering deeper day by day ? 

“ Sometimes, too, I cannot but notice a livid pallor 
about the mouth, and once I saw his face contorted by 
a sudden spasm and heard a sound like a groan burst 
from his lips. Is it that his sin is finding him out ? Is 
another and higher vengeance, beyond my own, pur- 
suing him? 

“ I have watched him narrowly, and sometimes I am 
half inclined to think that he looks like a man in the 
grip of a mortal illness. If this were so — and I could 
half bring myself to wish that it were — it would show 
me a solution and an escape from my terrible difficulty. 
If he were to die 1 But even then, I must wring a con- 
fession of his guilt from him, though' he were upon his 
death-bed. I must feel, and allow him to feel, that I 
hold his life in the hollow of my hand, and, if I forbear 
to render it up, a prey to justice, it is only because 
his hours are already numbered. 

“ I wish I could consult with Dr. Cartwright on this 


TEE DIARY— CONTINUED. 


297 


matter. I wish I could see him, even though it were 
but for a moment. As it is, I have received more than 
one letter from him, all harping on the same string. 
* Give it up, leave off masquerading under a false iden- 
tity, and sail under your own colours. You must 
inevitably be found out, sooner or later, and then it will 
all come out about the false character and everything, 
and that will be a pretty kettle of fish.’ 

“ Dr. Jeremiah, it appears, delights in a profusion of 
metaphor. But he generally spoils the effect of the 
admonitions with which he fills the body of his letter, 
by a postscript, such as — ‘ Have you made any further 
discoveries worth mentioning ? Have you come upon 
anything of an incriminating nature ? Be sure you let 
me know and report progress in your next.’ No, 
Dr. Jeremiah, I have not made any further discoveries 
yet, but I hope to do so before long. 

“ Have I mentioned that this man, James Ferrers, 
of whose household I am at present a member, has 
effected some considerable alteration in his outward 
appearance by cultivating a beard ? According to 
the description which I received from different sources, 
at the time that the crime was committed he wore 
no hair upon his face but a moustache. Now he has 
added a beard, either as a matter of choice or expedi- 
ency — I should imagine the latter. And that reminds 
me of another circumstance. I wonder whether she 
has retained the slightest recollection of the indi- 
vidual who picked up the catalogue that she let fall 
that day at the Academy ? It is not in the least pro- 
bable that such an insignificant individual and such a 
trifling occurrence would remain in her mind an instant 
longer than the incident itself took in the accomplishing, 
and yet sometimes there is a puzzled expression upon 
her face, as her eyes inadvertently encounter mine, as 


298 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


though she were searching her memory for the answer 
to some question which bathes her. 

“ In reviewing my conduct in the past, I realize the 
fact that I have acted very foolishly in making an 
enemy of the woman Perkins, for she has it in her 
to prove no despicable one. I see, now that it is too 
late, that I ought to have humoured her, to have 
fooled her to the top of her bent, if need were — any- 
thing rather than have acted as I did. There is an 
allusion somewhere to the ‘fury of a woman scorned,’ 
and I cannot but admit now that my conduct, in this 
particular instance, has shown a deplorable lack of 
judgment and foresight. I fear that it is now too late 
to repair the evil ; though it would do no harm if I were 
to venture, for the immediate future, upon more con- 
ciliatory tactics. I wonder how they are getting on 
without me at home ? I wonder whether my mother 
still keeps her bed ? I wonder whether the grass has 
grown upon my father’s grave, and whether his false 
friend is lying awake now, at this late hour, and en- 
during all the tortures of a guilty conscience — or, 
whether he has a conscience at all? And I wonder, 
more than all, what will have taken place before 
another month has passed over our heads ? 

“ Cook’s snores are still audible through the wall, 
which seems to reverberate with the sound. Surely 
anyone who can sleep, who can snore like that, must 
needs have a conscience as clear as the noonday. I do 
not believe that such prodigious sounds could proceed 
except from one with a mind entirely at ease. I cannot 
imagine a malefactor or a guilty person snoring. He 
might mutter and toss, and utter discordant sounds in 
his sleep, but to snore — especially such snores as now 
assail my ears through the partition — one must be at 
peace with the world, as I am sure cook is — such 


THE DIARY— CONTINUED. 299 

trifling matters as perquisites weighing no heavier than 
thistledown. 

“ I remember the time when I had nothing heavier 
upon my mind than a slightly over-due tailor’s bill, 
or the unsettled state of my affections, which were 
generally engaged three deep ; though, at the present 
moment, I can barely recall the names of the young 
ladies who were the objects of my ardent admiration six 
months ago ; and no doubt they have proved equally 
unmindful in their turn. I wish I could persuade 
myself into the belief that my present state of feelings 
might prove as transitory and occasion me as little 
pain as those bygone, foolish, sentimental episodes. 
Unfortunately, I am aware that, of late, my whole 
nature seems to have changed, and I am afraid 
that I shall always bear about me the marks of 
the fiery trial through which I am now passing. 
Perhaps, now that I have written myself out, and 
there is little or nothing left to add to the record of 
this night’s proceedings, I may be able to snatch a few 
hours’ sleep. Latterly, though, I have been haunted 
by the repetition of a dream — a dream which first visited 
me on that night when I fell asleep upon the sofa in 
my father’s study, and from which I woke to enter 
upon the strangest and most mysterious passage of my 
life’s history ; or, according to Dr. Jeremiah, to ex- 
perience a mere optical delusion, the result or the con- 
tinuation of my dream. I will not argue out the matter 
here ; but my conviction will always remain unchanged 
in spite of all the appalling long words and scientific 
terms which may be hurled at my head. This dream, 
though incomplete and unsatisfactory as it was at the 
time to which I allude, has returned again and again. 
It is nearly always the same, or, if it varies at all, it 
is only in some minute and unimportant detail. The 


300 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


main point and predominating theme are ever the same. 
I am always upon the verge of some discovery — some 
all-important, amazing discovery, upon which the 
whole matter rests, and which, if I could but grasp it, 
only for a single instant would make everything plain 
and clear which now is dark and intricate. It is always 
my father who appears to me in my dream, and is 
about to reveal the solution of some mystery in which 
his fate is involved. He appears to me pale and spirit- 
like, with the same strained and agonized expression 
which his features wore in death before they were 
hidden by the coffin-lid. He raises his hand and 
points to the wound in his left temple — the wound 
which is partially concealed by the hair, and I see his 
bloodless lips move. 

“ ‘ Let me tell you how it happened,’ I think I hear 
him say, and then — either I wake, or the vision fades 
away, and is replaced by another, which has no bear- 
ing upon the subject. Very likely, after letting my mind 
dwell upon it now, at this late hour, there will be a 
recurrence of the dream to-night. The same figure 
will appear to me, the same action will be performed, 
the same words spoken, and, as on all previous occa- 
sions, it will vanish at the same point, or else I shall 
wake suddenly to find that I have overslept myself, 
and that another day of menial labour and degrading 
dissimulation has commenced — another day of peep- 
ing and prying, of listening at keyholes, of dogging 
footsteps and spying at every corner. 

“ Cook still snores steadily on. From the duration 
and profundity of her slumbers, she will probably, on 
the morrow, deny that she closed an eye all night.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE AGONY COLUMN. 

^PHE following morning, Mr. James Ferrers, of Bel- 
-L mont House, Hampstead, and his daughter were 
breakfasting at their usual hour of nine o’clock, being 
waited on, during the progress of the meal, by the 
young man Edwards, who, as it might have been 
observed, looked somewhat heavy-eyed, as though, for 
some reason, he had not enjoyed his proper proportion 
of rest over-night. 

“ I wish I could remember where I have seen his face 
before,” mused the young lady. “ I shall never have 
any peace until I have settled that question satis- 
factorily. I believe if I could only once do that I 
should be able to leave off thinking about him. I wish 
he had never come into the house. After all, I do not 
see what we want with a man-servant — particularly 
one who roams about the house at night and frightens 
people; though, on the whole, I think I frightened 
him quite as much as he did me.” Then, out loud, 
to her father : “Is there anything interesting in 
the paper this morning? You might let me have 
the outside sheet, if you don’t want it. There can’t 
be any harm in that, and I like to read the agony 
column.” 

He passed her over that portion of the paper she 
desired, and continued his own perusal of the money 
article. 

Miss Ferrers skimmed down the page, occasionally 
repeating some of its contents aloud. 

301 


302 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


C ^LARA to JOHN. Return home at once. Baby has got 

J another tooth. 

ILL the GENTLEMAN who left his OLD HAT behind, 



V V and took a NEW ONE belong.ng to someone else, kindly 
communicate his address, that the mistake may be rectified ? 

E DWIN to ANGELINA. You know my terms. A latch- 
key, or no surrender. 

I F this should MEET the EYE of my MOTHER-IN-LAW, 
let her take warning and reflect what the consequences of 
her conduct will be to JEMIMA and the TWINS. 

M AY to TED. Return home at once, if you wish to be in 
time. 

* ‘ In time for what, I wonder ? ” remarked Miss Ferrers. 
“ She doesn’t say. Good gracious ! What’s that?” 

The young man Edwards had committed his second 
act of awkwardness, and allowed a plate to slip from be- 
tween his fingers and be smashed to pieces on the floor. 

“ Dear me ! ” reflected the girl, as she watched him 
gather up the broken fragments. “I wonder what 
makes him so clumsy at times ? He has not broken 
anything, that I am aware of, since that tray of glasses, 
and I can’t understand how he came to let that plate 
slip. How his fingers shake, and how slow he is 
picking up the pieces. 

Half an hour later the young man presented himself 
before his master and asked a favour. He had 
received bad news from home. It had not been made 
quite plain to him what was wrong, but he feared ill- 
ness or something very serious, and he must request 
permission to go and see for himself what the matter 
was. He had not asked for or taken a holiday during 
the time that he had been in the place, and he hoped that 
he should not be causing any inconvenience by request- 
ing leave of absence at the present moment, but it was 
absolutely necessary, etc. 

It was impossible to refuse such a request when 


T1IE AGONY COLUMN. 


303 


made with so much deference and an unmistakable 
appearance of straightforwardness and genuine distress. 

“ Of course you must let him go, father,” said the 
young lady when consulted on the subject. “ It may 
be someone belonging to him is dying. It is strange, 
though, that he does not seem to know the exact state 
of affairs. But, for all that, you must let him go, and 
give him permission to remain as long as he- requires, 
and pay him his month’s wages before he goes. Per- 
haps,” she continued to herself, “ he may remain away 
altogether, and perhaps it might not be altogether a 
bad thing if he were to do so. At anyrate, there 
would be less disagreement in the kitchen ; though, as 
for that, I mean to give that Perkins notice to leave on 
the very first opportunity. I can’t bear her ! ” — with 
a stamp of the foot — “ she’s a cat ! ” 

So, with many thanks for the permission graciously 
accorded him, the young man took his leave, pledging 
himself to return at the earliest possible opportunity. 

“ I wonder if he will ? ” thought Miss Ferrers ; “ and 
I wonder whether I should be sorry if he didn’t ? ” 

Meanwhile, in "the kitchen, a somewhat similar 
question was being asked. 

“ I wonder whether ’e’s gone for good or not ? ” said 
the cook, pausing, rolling-pin in hand, as she put the 
inquiry partly to herself and partly to the housemaid. 

“Nol” snapped the latter; “not him. You may 
be sure he isn’t up to any good, wherever he is, or 
whatever he’s a-doing 1 ” 

“To ’ear you- talk, Mariarann,” was the retort, 
“ anyone would think as the pore young feller ’d done 
you a pussonel hinjury, instead^of jest puttin’ ’is foot 
down firm about them tracks and refusin’ to be drawed 
into chapel goin’, for which I don’t blame ’im ; for 
chapels is all very well, and churches is all very well, 


304 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


but fair play’s a jool, and men — speshully young men 
— must be ’umoured, and not drove. We all of us 
wants ’umourin’ at times, from saucepans uppards. If 
your kittle won’t b’ile, it’s no use blamin’ it on the 
coals, and ’ammerin’ hinto ’em with the poker ; try a 
little persuashun. And it’s the same with the men. 
If they won’t come forrard in spite of every hoppor- 
tunity and hencouragement, it’s no use to come down 
on ’em ’ard with Scripter, though you’ve chapter and 
verse at your fingers’ ends. Try lettin’ of ’em alone a 
bit, and maybe you’ll find that answer.” 

‘•I’m uncommon obliged to you, cook,” answered 
Miss Perkins, in a passion. “I suppose you mean 
that it’s me that’s been running after that good-for- 
nothing fellow, Edwards ; as I wouldn’t demean my- 
self by taking up with. I wonder you dare to say 
such a thing, cook ? ” 

Cook rose to the occasion, and made a reply, which 
for simplicity and native grandeur could not have been 
surpassed by the loftiest flight of eloquence or the 
most scathing outburst of denunciation. 

“ Mariarann Perkins,” she said, with the rolling-pin 
in one hand and a pot of raspberry jam in the other, 
“ there ain’t nothink I don’t dare do in my own 
kiching ! ” Then, with great generosity, inspired, no 
doubt, by the comfortable conviction that she had had 
the best of the argument, she continued in a milder 
tone : “ Now don’t you go puttin’ of me out with the 
pastry on my mind, there’s a good soul. If there 
hever is a time as I would wish to be on good terms 
with my feller creeturs more than another, it is when 
I’m a-makin’ pie-crusts. Once you gives way to 
henvy, ’atred, mallets, and all uncharrytubbleness,’ 
as King Soloman says, and where’s your flakiness? 
Why, I’ve knowed a ’olo batch of promisin’ mince-pies 


THE AGONY COLUMN. 


305 


ruined by a few ’asty words ! Ah, you wants a light 
’art as well as a light ’and for puff-paste 1 ” 

There was silence for a little while, as cook con- 
tinued her delicate task. Then the housemaid, swal- 
lowing her pride and bursting with repressed curiosity, 
remarked : 

“ What I say is — how does he know as there’s any- 
thing wrong at his home? He didn’t have a letter to 
say so, and there’s been nobody to see him, or leave a 
message, or anything?” 

Cook paused, with the uplifted flour-dredger in her 
hand, and reflected for a moment. 

“ Well, I declare ; I never thought o’ that ! ” she 
exclaimed. “ No more there weren’t ! ” 

“Depend upon it,” continued the housemaid, “what 
he wanted was a holiday, and he didn’t care how he got 
it. Oh, how deceitful is human nature, when not up- 
held by strong religious convictions 1 Then you quite 
agree with me, cook, that this bad news from home 
was all a do ? ” 

Cook suddenly became very solemn and impressive. 

“ ’E may ’av ’ad a warnin’.” 

“A warning,” cried the housemaid. “A month’s 
warning ! Why ? — when ? — what for ? ” 

“ Not that sort of a warnin’, Mariarann,” answered 
cook, with immovable gravity. “A warnin’” — here 
she indicated the kitchen ceiling with a tablespoon — 
“ from above — in a dream, or somethink.” 

The housemaid gave way to an expression of im- 
patience and contempt. 

“ It’s all very well your shruggin’ your shoulders 
and sniffin’ — as is not manners,” continued the other, 
scraping out the last of the jam for her own delectation. 
“It’s all very well for you to per tend to despise 
warnin’s and sich like, but ’ow about Joseph of 

20 


306 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Harry Matheer and ’is brethren, and King Fair-oh’s 
cook and bottle-washer ? ” 

“ Butler, I suppose you mean,” said the housemaid, 
disdainfully; “and whatever do you mean by Joseph 
of Arimathea ? You’re mixing up the Old and the New 
Testament shameful ! ” 

“ When I was a gal,” continued the cook, wrathfully, 
“I went to Sunday school, same as other gals, and 
was taught accordin’, and you ain’t a-goin’ to tell me, 
Mariarann Perkins, as what they learned me there 
wasn’t right and proper. Joseph of Harry Matheer, 
and Joshuer and the Walls of Jerusalem, and Samuel 
in the Den of Lions ! ” 

About the time that this controversy was being 
carried on, a cab, containing a young man, drove up to 
the door of Magnolia Lodge, Dulwich. 

As the vehicle in which he was seated turned in 
at the gate he cast a hasty, comprehensive glance over 
the front of the house, then gave utterance to an 
exclamation of relief and gratitude. 

“Thank God — there are no blinds drawn down! 
Perhaps it is not my mother, after all,” he reflected as 
he rang the bell. “ Probably I was wrong in assuming 
from the first that the summons must necessarily 
concern her. As Dr. Jeremiah said once before, I am 
too fond of rushing to conclusions.” 

It was strange that he should happen to think of 
Dr. Jeremiah at that particular moment, for, as the 
door opened, he heard a familiar voice exclaim, “That’s 
him, I know,” and, in the short, active figure which 
came forward to meet him, he recognized Dr. Jeremiah 
in the flesh. 

“ My dear boy, I’m so glad,” as the latter grasped 
his hand warmly. “ Your sister was afraid that you 
might not be in time; but I told her she needn’t 


THE AGONY COLUMN. 


307 


trouble ; you’d be sure to see the notice in the paper, 
wherever you were, and start immediately.” 

“ Then, it is ? ” he began to say. 

But the doctor interrupted him. “ Yes, my dear 
fellow — it's no use disguising the matter — your mother 
is not long for this world — a few hours, perhaps, may 
even see the end.” 

Then, as the young man staggered slightly, he took 
him by the arm. “Come in here,” he said, pointing to 
an open door; “come and have a glass of wine or 
something. I daresay you started off at a moment’s 
notice and are quite exhausted.” And he led him into 
the room and made him swallow the prescription before 
he would listen to another word. Then he consented 
to answer the questions put to him. “ There is nothing 
at all the matter with her, except an increasing loss of 
vitality. There is no suffering — only a gradual slip- 
ping away. I partly foresaw this when I was here 
before, but I thought, on the top of your other troubles, 
it would have been cruel to impose another.” 

“ But how is it ? ” — inquired the other, who seemed 
to lose all strength and energy, as he heard the doctor 
pronounce the doom of his sole remaining parent; 
“how is it ?” 

“ How is it you find me here, you would ask ? ” inter- 
rupted his friend, interpreting the unspoken question. 
“ Well, you see, Miss May, your sister, was in great 
perplexity — all alone and not knowing what to do; 
she saw that her mother was growing weaker every 
day, and that her own doctor seemed to do her no 
good, and so ” — he ran his fingers through his short 
crop of hair — “ and so she paid me the compliment of 
writing to me for my opinion, and I — I answered her 
letter in person — only arrived here about an hour ago, 
and as on the very point of sending off a telegram when 


30S 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


you rang the bell. Should have sent one off before, 
but guessed you would see the notice in the Standard 
this morning — she told me of the arrangement be- 
tween you — and would get off on the earliest opportu- 
nity.” 

The young man looked at him gratefully. 

“It was very good of you, Doctor,” be said, “to 
leave your patients and everything, and come to our 
assistance. You are the best friend we have.” 

“ Nonsense, nonsense I ” was the quick reply. “ De- 
lighted to be of service to your sister — that is, to your- 
self — to the family generally. Besides, patients are not 
so plentiful just now — the weather’s been too healthy 
for ’em. Perhaps a nice little epidemic may set in 
while I’m away, and help me to run up the bills when 
I get back. But ” — with a sudden change of tone — 
“ you will be wanting to see your mother. She has 
been asking for you ; but is perfectly easy in her mind 
and quite happy, though she is aware that she is 
dying. Of course, I shall remain now until the end.” 

“ Thank you — thank you ! ” was the answer. “ I 
don’t know what we should do without you. I don’t 
know what I should have done without you that other 
time. I shall never forget what I — what we all owe to 
you.” 

“ Rubbish ! ” said the doctor. “Wait until you see 
the bill I am going to send in some day.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


DR. JEREMIAH DEMANDS AN EXPLANATION. 

M RS. BURRITT died that same evening. She re- 
cognized her son with feeble delight ; though she 
was apparently quite unconscious of the length of time 
that had. elapsed since she had last seen him. “ I hope 
you have had a nice change, my dear,” she said. “ I 
am sorry you should have had to cut your holiday short 
in this way. But I am glad you have come. There are 
one or two things I wanted to say to you. I can’t 
think of them just at this minute, but, very likely I 
shall remember them by-and-by.” 

He sat by her side until the end, trying to make up, 
now at the last, for his long absence, and what he 
' stigmatized, in his own heart as neglect. He ought 
never to have left home, he told himself over and over 
again — and yet he had seemed at the time to be 
performing only a plain act of duty, and one which 
would have given him no rest until it had been ac- 
complished. 

Dr. Jeremiah, too, was in constant attendance in the 
sick room, though that term appeared to be hardly a 
proper designation for the chamber whose occupant 
was passing so gently and painlessly away — and when 
not thus engaged, devoted himself to the consoling of 
the shortly to be bereaved daughter. In this latter 
department he proved himself no trifling expert ; inso- 
much that she, too, like her brother, found herself 
asking whatever they should have done without him, 
309 


310 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

and blessing the impulse which had caused her to seek 
his assistance. 

“ I don’t believe there is anyone like you, Doctor — 
so good and kind and everything,” she exclaimed, in a 
sudden outburst of feeling. 

Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright had a small patch on the 
top of his head, where the hair was not quite so thick 
now as it had once been. On receiving this tribute of 
affectionate regard, he wheeled suddenly round, as 
though he had received the word of command, and 
began to look out of window, thus presenting to view 
the aforesaid thin place, which suddenly became 
suffused with a roseate tinge, which remained for some 
seconds, and then gradually died away. This pheno- 
menon was accompaniecWby a faint, barely audible echo 
of the words, as though breathed by some spirit voice, 
“ Jeremiah Cartwright, you’re a fool ! ” 

A few hours later, with both her children beside her, 
Mrs. Burritt passed away. 

“ I remember what it was I wanted to say to you,” 
she said to her son just at the last. “ Of course you will 
bury me by your father. But, if it should happen to 
rain on the day of the funeral, be sure you don’t 
get your feet wet through standing about on the 
grass. You always were so careless about catching 
cold, you know, my dear, and there will be nobody to 
insist upon your changing your shoes and putting on 
dry socks when I’m gone. And you’ll look after your 
sister? Don’t let her have anything to say to that 
young Jarvis. He has been calling here a good deal 
lately, to ask after me — but he does not look strong — 
his father died of concussion of the brain, too, and it 
may run in the family. I think that’s all,” she gasped, 
as her voice became weaker and her sands of life 
ebbed rapidly away — ■“ Unless — you’ve a message — to 


AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED. 


311 


send — to your father— I shall see him very soon now 
— I hope I haven’t kept him waiting — good-by, my 
dears — God bless you ! ” 

They thought it was all over, but her eyes opened 
once more, and her face brightened. “I’m coming, 
Silas,” she said, with a smile. 

Then her eyes closed again, the smile died away, 
she gave a slight sigh, and 

“ She’s gone,” said Dr. Cartwright, reverently. 

Once more the house became a house of mourning — 
the blinds were drawn down, and everybody trod 
softly, as though afraid of disturbing the repose of that 
quiet, peaceful figure in the darkened chamber. 

This time, however, there was no element of mystery 
and horror associated with the sad event. There was 
no shadow of crime and violence overshadowing them ; 
and the two who were left, remembering this, took 
courage. 

Dr. Cartwright had offered to remain until after the 
funeral, which offer, it is needless to say, was grate- 
fully accepted by both the young people. For he not 
only took all the trouble upon his own shoulders, but, 
by keeping their minds occupied and discountenancing 
all morbid and melancholy thoughts and all brooding 
over the past, robbed the next few days of half their 
painful, gloomy dreariness. 

The day for the funeral came and went, and the 
dark and solemn cortege wound its way out of the 
gates which but a short time back had unclosed to 
allow just another to pass through. 

Then it had been May, now it was August — a wet, 
cold, unsummerlike August, over which people shook 
their heads and wanted to know what we were coming 
to with such weather, and business so different to what 
it used to be. 


312 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“By-the-by,” said the doctor, as he and his host 
sat together after dinner in the large, empty looking 
dining room, “ of course this sad event puts an end to 
your wild scheme and uprofitable adventure Hampstead 
way ? ” 

There was no immediate reply, and the doctor 
paused in the process of lighting a cigar to glance 
across at the face opposite to him. 

It wore a look of distress, mingled with gloomy 
determination, which caused the little man to mutter 
angrily to himself, “ Confound the fellow ! He means 
to give me some trouble, I can see.” Then, with an 
air of calm conviction, he continued, “ Of course 
you’ll see the necessity of giving up all that folly and 
stopping quietly at home and looking after your sister 
and your business ? ” 

The young man sighed heavily, and still sat with 
frowning brows bent apparently upon vacancy. 

“You don’t mean to tell me,” said the other, 
severely, “that you are allowing yourself to entertain 
the slightest doubt as to the propriety of such a 
course? You don’t mean to say ? ” 

“I mean to say this,” was the interruption, “that 
for a short time, at least, it is absolutely necessary 
that I should return to the same place and take up the 
same position as that which I have been holding for 
the last two months.” 

“ Good heavens, man 1 ” exclaimed the doctor, 
excitedly; “are you mad? How much longer are 
you going to carry on this farce? ” 

“ It is no farce,” was the stern reply. “ Give it its 
right title at least — call it a tragedy.” 

“What do you mean?” inquired the other man, 
sharply. 

“ What I say,” was the curt reply. 


AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED. 


313 


Dr. Cartwright laid his cigar down, moved his chair 
a little nearer to his friend, and — allowing curiosity to 
obtain the upper hand of dignity — asked, “ What have 
you found out ? ” 

“Nothing more, as yet,” was the disappointing 
answer. 

“ Oh, hang it all I ” said the doctor. “ That is what 
you always say.” 

The other smiled darkly. 

“ Come now,” said the doctor, insinuatingly, “ make 
a clean breast of it. Have you done anything at all, 
all the time that you have been indulging in this 
extraordinary freak? Or are you only just where 
you were before ? Come now, confess ! ” 

“ What am I to confess? ” was the inquiry. 

“Confess that 'you have made a mess of it; that 
you have been mistaken throughout; that you are 
heartily sick of the job, and wish you had never 
undertaken it ; that you were wrong not to have 
listened to my advice before, and that it was only 
your own obstinacy which prevented you throwing 
it up long ago. Confess all this,” said his friend, 
magnanimously, “ and I will let you off easily, and 
never refer to the matter again.” 

Ted could not help giving a short laugh. “ You are 
modest in the extreme in your demands, I must say. 
You merely require me to confess you the wise man 
and myself the fool. Most people would be content 
with a similar admission. I am sorry, nevertheless, 
that I cannot comply with your terms.” 

“ Do you mean to imply, then,” asked the doctor, 
in a very stand-and-deliver tone, “ that you have not 
failed in your design up till now ? And that you are 
not sick to death of the whole affair ? ” 

“I mean to say,” was the answer, “that, so far 


314 TJTE FATAL REQUEST. 

from having failed in any way, I am on the very 
point ” 

“ Ah,” was the disgusted interruption. “ There 
you go again! That was what you said in each of 
your letters. You were always on the point of some 
great discovery, and yet, for all that, you admit that 
you are really no nearer making it than ever.” 

*• I don’t think I said that, either,” said the young 
man, quietly. 

“Eh, what? What’s that? What do you mean?” — 
from the doctor. 

Ted Burritt put his hand to his breast pocket and 
produced a key. 

Dr. Cartwright regarded it suspiciously, through his 
spectacles, as though he half expected it to vanish 
into thin air, or disappear from sight like the writing 
on that mysterious document. “ A key,” he remarked. 
“Why, what’s that for? What has that got to do 
with it? ” 

“ It is the key of the situation,” was the answer, as 
the article was re-consigned to the same pocket. 
“Not that I intended a pun. But it is the simple 
fact.” 

“ What is it for ? ” asked the doctor again. “ What 
does it belong to? What does it open? How did 
you get it? and what are you going to do with 
it?” 

“What is it?” was the answer. “ As you can see 
for yourself, it is a very simple matter — only a key. 
The key of a certain room, of which I desire to possess 
the means of entry — the key of the cupboard in which 
the skeleton is hidden.” 

He spoke fast, and seemed to have given way to 
sudden excitement. The doctor regarded him with 
urprise and curiosity. 


AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED. 


315 


“If you would be so good as to translate that last 
speech of yours,” he said, “ I should very much like to 
know what you really do mean. For instance, putting 
aside hyperbole, what does that key belong to?” 

“ To the door of my master’s private room,” was the 
reply, with a bitter emphasis upon the one word. 

“And how did you come by it?” was the next 
question. 

“ I took the impression in wax and had it made for 
me,” the young man answered, with a slight hesita- 
tion, as he avoided meeting the doctor’s eye. 

“Phew ! ” whistled the latter, raising his eyebrows 
and with astonishment writ large all over him. 
“ That’s rather sharp practice, my young friend,” he 
continued, very seriously. “ Have you counted the 
cost ? Have you considered the penalty ? Has it ever 
occurred to you how very black the affair will look if 
you are caught in such a felonious transaction as 
breaking into another person’s premises? — for it 
amounts to that. Give it up, my dear boy; give it 
up” — descending to entreaty — “and throw that con- 
founded key out of window.” 

He saw at once, however, from the dogged expression 
of the other’s countenance, and particularly from the 
way in which he set his lips together, that all his 
arguments would be thrown away, and, with a hah 
suppressed groan, he asked — 

“ And what, may I ask, do you expect to find that 
will make it worth your while to run such a risk, as 
you must do, if you make use of that key ? Why ” — 
with an expression of intense horror — “ you might be 
sent to prison ! ” 

The other man rose, and, leaning one arm on the 
mantelpiece, looked down upon his friend. 

“I am not afraid of that,” he said; “and, even if 


310 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


there were the chance of such a thing happening, it 
would not deter me now. I have gone too far to draw 
back, and I would not if I could.” 

“ Such wicked obstinacy ! such utter madness ! ” 
was the ejaculation. “ If I had my way, you should 
be put into a lunatic asylum. I’d sign the certificate 
with pleasure. But” — calming down a little — “at least, 
you might tell me what you hope to discover by the 
aid of that key ? ” 

“Something incriminating — something of deadly 
interest — which I am convinced is contained within 
the compass of those four walls. Perhaps the instru- 
ment of the murder itself, perhaps something in the 
form of writing, which might help to prove his guilt. 
For, we all know how strangely some criminals will 
treasure up the very proofs of their crime, which 
common sense should teach them to destroy. I tell 
you,” he concluded, “ it is not for nothing that this 
man Ferrers shuts himself up, for hours together, in 
that same room, and starts and turns pale on en- 
countering anyone on the threshold.” 

“And you pin your faith to this?” inquired the 
doctor, throwing up his hands in despair. “Well, 
may you escape the consequences of your folly ! And 
for the sake of this — this will-o’-the-wisp — this 
phantom, which you are always pursuing, you mean 
to go away again and leave that poor girl, your sister, 
all alone, immediately after the death of her only 
parent? Why ” 

“My mother’s sister will come and stay with her 
while I am away,” interrupted the other; “and, as 
I have said before, it is only for a short time. Some- 
thing seems to tell me that the matter will soon be 
settled one way or another.” 

“ All that I can say, then,” was the irate reply, “ is 


AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED. 


317 


that I hope whoever or whatever it is that gives you 
that satisfactory piece of information is to be depended 
on. And to think,” he continued, dramatically, “that 
in the meantime you are going to submit anew to 
the degradation of wearing livery and having your 
meals with the servants, while you allow the fine 
business that your father left you to go to the 
deuce I ” 

“ No fear of that, so long as old Jones sticks to it,” 
was the confident reply. “ Besides, I arranged with 
him for six months’ leave of absence, if necessary, 
and the term is not yet half expired. With regard 
to having my meals with the servants, now that I 
am getting accustomed to the prominent and honour- 
able position assigned to the knife, and am learning 
to drink my tea out of the saucer, there is no great 
hardship in that. As to the livery, I fancy — I may 
be mistaken — but I fancy I look rather well in it.” 

“Then how is it,” asked the doctor springing a 
mine upon him, “that if you are so extremely com- 
fortable and so perfectly satisfied with your worthy 
condition of servitude, and are, moreover, upheld by 
the delightful prospect of revenging yourself on your 
own and your father’s enemy — how is it, I ask, that 
I find you sighing like a furnace when you think 
yourself unobserved? And how is it” — producing 
something from his waistcoat pocket — “ that I pick 
up this sheet of paper, inside the fender, on which I 
see written, in a hand I recognize as your own, the 
name, ‘ Agnes,’ over and over again? ” 

The young man turned a deep, burning red, as he * 
made a snatch at the paper hfeld out to him. 

Then the colour ebbed rapidly away, and he turned 
so fearfully pale that Dr. Cartwright was alarmed; 
but he made no reply. 


318 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ What is the meaning of this change I see in you?” 
continued his keen, but kindly, inquisitor. “ Not long 
ago the mere casual mention of your father’s name 
was enough to incite you to any deed of violence, and 
f you declared that life had but one aim and object for 
you — the hunting down of his murderer. Now you 
are dull and apathetic, and though you persist as 
strongly as ever in the carrying out of your insane 
design, it is in a dogged, hopeless spirit, quite different 
to your former fiery, passionate and most unchristian 
conduct. Why does the hope of delivering up your 
enemy to justice no longer fill you with the sense of 
triumph — highly reprehensible though that feeling may 
have been — that it once .did ? ” 

“Because,” was the reply, “I have fallen in love 
vith my enemy’s daughter 1 ” 


CHAPTER XII. 


EXTRACT FROM A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY — CONTINUED. 

“ I j E has come back, after all — I mean, of course 

JL -L Edwards, who had leave given him to go 
home on the receipt of bad news, which bad news 
turned out to be the illness of his mother, which 
proved fatal. Poor young man ! I was very sorry to 
hear of it, and if I had only_ known where she lived I 
might have sent her something — grapes or jelly — as I 
do not suppose her family would be able to afford to 
provide her with anything in the shape of luxuries. 

“ I spoke to cook about this, and she agreed with 
me, but said that Edwards was a young man ‘ as kept 
his affairs very close and had left no address behind 
him, nor even so much as said whether it was London 
or suburbs, which was a pity, as there was nothing 
like a good jelly — made as she knew how to make it — 
to soothe a aching heart ; and good strong broth in 
bereavement was often more comforting than even the 
parson himself.’ 

“ So, you see, I find myself quoting cook again, and, 
what is worse, breaking my promise to myself neither 
to write about, nor to allow myself to dwell upon, any- 
thing in connection with this young man. 

“ Unfortunately there is nothing else to occupy my 
attention. We go to see no one, and no one comes to 
see us, and if the girls at school only knew what a dull 
life I am leading, they would pity instead of envying me. 

“Of course this is chiefly owing to my father’s ill- 
319 


320 


TlIE FATAL REQUEST. 


health ; for it is easy enough to see that he is far from 
well, and though he will not own to any cause for 
anxiety and appears to think very little of the doctor’s 
opinion (whatever it was), it is quite evident to me that 
there is something serious — something radically wrong, 
and that he is quite aware of the fact himself, though, 
for my sake, he affects to laugh at it. Another 
circumstance which, to my mind, goes to prove this is 
that, two or three days ago, my father went up to 
town alone, and without even proposing that I should 
accompany him. I thought to myself he is going to 
pay another visit to the physician, and perhaps he 
may have done so ; but the next day, a thin, sharp- 
featured individual, who ^looked as though he could 
see right through you, as well as tell what was going 
on behind him, and with a general expression about 
him as though he knew exactly what you were going 
to say before you opened your mouth, and could say 
it a great deal better himself, called to see him, by 
appointment. He was accompanied by another man, 
who carried a black bag and looked as though he 
might be his clerk. 

“They arrived just as I was going out to post a letter 
to one of the girls at school — one of the sixteen I spoke 
of — and passed me in the hall, on their way to my 
father’s private room. There was something about 
both which it was impossible to mistake — it was just 
as though I had seen 6s. 8 d. written all over them. It 
was easy enough to guess that these two visitors — the 
first who have entered this house — meant business. 
They seemed to leave quite a dry musty odour of 
law behind them in passing. The first, and evi- 
dently superior of the two, gave me a quick, com- 
prehensive glance, which seemed to take me in from 
head to foot, and I have no doubt he would be able to 


A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY— CONTINUED. 321 


give an accurate description of me, from memory, if 
required. I had only to go to the end of the road to 
post my letter, and was back again in less than ten 
minutes, for I was full of curiosity and hurried so 
that I was out of breath. I found, on inquiry, that 
they were both of them still with my father. An 
hour passed and then his bell rang, and — a most 
remarkable circumstance — a message was delivered to 
•the effect that cook was wanted. Cook, of all people I 
She made her appearance, very much flushed and 
pulling down her sleeves as she came upstairs. She 
knocked at the door of the room in which all this 
mysterious business was being carried on, and was 
admitted. I observed this 'through the crack of the 
door, and kept watch for her reappearance, wondering 
very much all the while why she had been sent for. 

“Was she going to receive notice to leave ? Had 
she come into a fortune, or turned out to be the long- 
lost child of one of the nobility ? I tried to picture her 
wearing a coronet, but found it even harder than I 
should have thought. Then it occurred to me that she 
might have formed a plan to poison us all in the soup, 
and that it had been discovered in time ; and perhaps 
the two strangers were detectives in disguise, and the 
black bag contained handcuffs. 

“ But that didn’t seem altogether likely, either. 
However, she was not in the room more than a quarter 
of an hour, and when she came out I could tell, by the 
way in which she smoothed down her apron, that she 
was feeling very much pleased about something. 
Evidently matters were all right, as far as she was 
concerned. 

“ I beckoned to her and she came directly. I hardly 
liked to ask point blank why she had been summoned 
to that room, and what had been passing behind 

21 


322 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


that closed door. But I was spared any embarrass- 
ment, by her at once leading up to the subject 
herself. 

“ ‘ If I ’ad been told, Miss Hagnes ’ (she never forgets 
to bestow that * H ’ upon me, as a sort of order of 
merit), ‘what I was wanted for, I should certingly not 
’ave gone in a cotton gownd as ’as bin to the wash 
that hoffen, it ought to know its way blindfold, and 
signed my name in a way I should not 'ave done, but 
for bein’ that flurried, and the pen with an’ air in it, 
as is a droreback at the best o’ times, per tickler when 
one is a bit out o’ practice, and Susanner always does 
seem a orkard sort o’ name to write.’ 

“Whatever did she mean? I was more bewildered 
than ever by the time she had come to the conclusion 
of this very involved speech, which I have tried to 
reproduce as exactly as possible. 

“ Signing her name to some document certainly 
seemed to agree with that idea of mine that she might 
have suddenly come into some property. If so, it 
would be she who would be giving me notice. 

“ * What was it you signed your name to, cook? ’ I 
asked, despairing of arriving at an understanding of 
the matter in any less direct way. 

“ ‘ Lor’, now, Miss Hagnes ! ’Aven’t I jest bin a-tellin’ 
you all about it ? Your pa, ’e wrote ’is name fust. 
Then “take this pen” (meanin’ the one with the ’air 
in it), ’e says (meanin’ not your pa, but the other gent, as 
seemed to know heverybody’s business as well as ’is 
own) ; “ take this pen,” ’e says, “ and sign jest there ” — 
pointin’ to a pertickler spot on the paper. “ What ham 
I to sign? ” I says, took all aback. “ Your name,” ’e 
says. “ Christshun or otherwise?” I says, cautious 
like. “Both,” ’e says. So I up and done it. Then 
’e says (still meanin’ the other gentleman), “ Married 


A YOUNG LADY'S DIARY-CONTINUED. 323 


or single?” ’e says, and, bein’ still a bit flurried, what 
with never ’avin’ done nothink o’ the sort afore, I says, 
“I’ll take whichever is most convenient to you, sir.” 
The other party present give a sort of laugh, but the 
other gentleman, as were a gentleman, repeats the 
questshun, and says : “I asked was you married or 
single?’ “Beggin’ your pardon,” I says, “which I 
mishunderstood, bein’ a bit took aback, but single, if 
it’s all the same to you, sir, though I will not deny 
hoffers in the past, as would be folly on my part, and 
not treatin’ you as you deserve. So,” I says, “ you 
may put me down single as far as the present, and let 
the fewcher take care of itself, and that, miss,’ she 
concluded, quite out of breath and very red in the 
face, ‘ were hall, except as the other party, the one as 
showed ’is bad manners by sniggerin’, signed ’is name, 
too, and the master poured me out a glass o’ sherry 
wine, which I says “ ’ere’s wishin’ your very good 
’elth,” and drunk.’ 

“ * Cook,’ I said, feeling my brain giving way, and 
almost swept off my feet by this torrent of words 
which she poured forth with hardly a pause, ‘ do you 
very much mind telling me what it was that you signed 
your name to just now ? ’ 

“ * Lawks-a-mussy, Miss Hagnes ! Well, there, you 
do surprise me ! ’Aven’t I bin’ sayin’ it hover and 
hover agin? Your pa’s bin makin’ ’is will, and’ — 
with much pride and emphasis — ‘ Hi’m one o’ the 
witnesses — which there was but two. Why, what was 
you a thinkin’ about all the time, Miss Hagnes? 
Would you like me to go back and tell you all about 
it agin, from the beginnin’ ? ’ 

“ I declined this well meant offer and she left me. 
How foolish of me not to have thought of this before ! 
The lawyer, the clerk, the black bag, cook’s being sent 

21 — 2 


324 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


for, and everything ought to have opened my eyes. 
He has made his will. Does this mean .anything? 
Of course, I know a great many people do the same. 
But why this hurry ? Surely there was plenty of time 
before him in which to do it — plenty of time, that is, 
unless the doctor 

“ It is a dreadful thought, and makes me turn 
cold and shiver as though we were in the middle of 
winter, instead of being in August. 

“ Perhaps he thinks — he is afraid that he has not 
plenty of time ? Perhaps that illness, which attacked 
him so suddenly and so strangely, is really something 
more serious than he will allow — something which is 
likely to prove fatal ? Oh, I hope not ! I pray not ! 
If that were to happen I should be alone in the 
world 1 I won’t think of it — I won’t believe it —that 
is, if I can help it. 

“ It is such a terrible thought ! — let me write down 
anything that comes into my head — any nonsense, to 
prevent myself from dwelling on it. The worst of 
it is, that you cannot drive away a thought like this. 
The worse it is, the oftener and more persistently it 
presents itself to your mind. But I will try. After 
all, it is perhaps foolish to allow myself to take alarm 
at what may be only an ordinary precaution. Indeed, 
now I come to think of it, it is rather surprising that 
he has not done this before, especially as he has more 
than once hinted to me that he is a rich man, and 
that I shall be quite an heiress one day. May that day 
be long in coming ! I have just been reading a book, 
in which a lady — a real lady, as far as birth and 
position go — marries her groom. I did not like it at 
all, even in fiction ; and, of course, in real life such a 
thing would be out of the question. I don’t know why 
I take the trouble to mention this, except as a means 


A YOUNG LADY’S DIARY— CONTINUED. 325 


of turning my thoughts from that other subject, which 
is so distressing to dwell upon. 

“By-the-by, a little while ago I met that strange 
young man, Edwards, on the stairs. 

“ He only returned late last night and this was the 
first time I had come across him. I felt that I ought 
to say something under the circumstances, sc I stopped 
and said how sorry I was to hear of his bereavement. 

“ He said, * Thank you, miss,’ with his eyes on the 
ground — a great improvement on his former habit of 
staring at me — and seemed as though he wished to 
pass on. 

“ * If I had known where to send them,’ I said, * I 
should have liked to have sent some grapes, or jelly, 
or something.’ 

“ ‘ You are very good, miss,’ he said, in the same 
dead level sort of way, with his eyes still fixed on the 
ground, and seemed again as though he would have 
liked to pass. 

“‘I am very sorry,’ I said again, ‘very sorry, 
indeed. I wish I could have done something. You 
see, I am half an orphan myself and can sympathize 
with you.’ 

“ That was all, but, as I turned away, I distinctly 
saw him strike his head violently with his hand and 
heard him give a sort of smothered grQan. He must 
have been very fond of his mother. Poor young 
fellow ! perhaps he was her only son ? I do so hope 
she had every comfort in her last illness. When I 
look back upon the interview it seems to me that there 
was something unusual about it. 

“ Certainly that was a very strange way in which 
he expressed his grief. But then he is a very strange 
young man." 


CHAPTER XIII. 

EXTRACTS FROM A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY. 


FIND my self imposed task harder and more tor- 



JL turing to my feelings than ever. Heaven 
knows how I am to muster strength and determina- 
tion to carry it through. As it is, I am torn by 
conflicting feelings ; my resolution varies a hundred 
times a day, and, as though I had not already enough 
to contend with, I am harassed, night after night, 
by the repetition of that strange and unsatisfactory 
dream, which is always the same, and is beginning 
to have a peculiar effect upon my nerves, which the 
events of this one year have shaken to an extent that 
I am just now finding out. 

“ I only returned to my situation two days ago. I 
had fully determined, in my own mind, before doing 
so, that the only way in which to remain master of 
myself was to put myself, as far as possible, beyond 
the reach of temptation, by allowing myself to see as 
little of, and by holding no sort of communication 
whatever with, £he enchantress, who has made havoc 
of my sternest and most justifiable resolutions, and 
taken my heart and brain captive. 

“ This would sound most unwarrantable self- 
assertion on the part of a servant. For what sort of 
intercourse would be likely to exist between two 
persons in, as far as outward appearances go, such 
widely diverging positions? What communication, 
save that of the most formal and perfunctory nature, 
could take place between mistress and menial — the 


326 


EXTRACTS FROM A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY. 32 ? 


sole heiress of an apparently wealthy parent and the 
young man in livery, who attends to the door and 
waits at table; who, in fact, was engaged on the 
understanding that he was to make himself generally 
useful in exchange for board and lodging, a certain sum 
in ready money (which pride should forbid me to 
specify) and other perquisites, which need not be enume- 
rated? An occasional command, followed by a seldom 
omitted * thank you,’ prompted by that innate courtesy 
and sweetness of disposition which manifests itself 
even to an inferior, is, in the natural course of things, 
all that could possibly pass between us, and yet, even 
that trifling intercourse is too much for my peace of 
mind. 

“ I say, peace of mind ! That is an erroneous 
expression ; I have long since lost all claim to that 
most inestimable quality — I should say more correctly, 
self control. 

“ If she were only a little more haughty in her de- 
meanour, a trifle more arrogant in her manner towards 
her social subordinates, a little vainer and more con- 
scious of her complete superiority to every other mem- 
ber of her sex ! If, in fact, she were only different in 
face, form, or character, I might find it less hard to 
remember and keep constantly in view the cause and 
object of my presence here. 

“I returned to this house full of the resolution of 
keeping my plan and purpose constantly before me — of 
remembering whose son I was and whose daughter she 
is. I determined that whenever my position and duties 
brought me into contact with her that I would not 
allow my eyes to rest upon her bewitching face, nor my 
ears to drink in so eagerly the tones of her sweet voice. 
I would try to be in reality the automaton I was 
expected to be, and make every thought and feeling 


328 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


subordinate to the predominating motive which had 
once, and' I vowed should again, inspire me — that of 
revenge 1 

“ And how long did I keep faith with myself ? How 
long did I preserve this precious resolve inviolate? 
Only until she encountered me — quite unavoidably on 
my part — and, animated by some celestial sympathy 
and divine impulse, spoke to me of my mother, pitied 
my sad bereavement, ‘wished she could have done 
something, and even went so far as to say that she 
* could sympathize with me, because she was half an 
orphan herself 1 ’ 

“And I had to listen to this and make no sign, 
beyond expressing the conventional form of gratitude 
suitable to one in my position. 

“ It was in vain that I kept my eyes fixed upon the 
ground, and tried to shut my ears to the gentle words 
she was uttering. I forgot my carefully prepared 
part, and struck my head a violent blow, and an 
involuntary groan escaped me. 

“But she evidently only attributed this to an 
access of filial emotion, though it was in reality very 
far indeed removed from that feeling. 

“ * Poor fellow 1 * I heard her murmur to herself as 
she turned away. 

“ * Poor fellow ! ’ What title would she bestow 
upon me if she knew the truth — the truth, which 
must out sooner or later ? Villain ! Spy ! Betrayer ! 

“ What name will be infamous enough for her to 
apply to me when she knows all ? And how can that 
knowledge be hidden from her ? 

“But I must not allow myself to think of this, for, 
if I do, I am lost. Let me employ my pen on some 
other and less distracting subject. 

“I have made a discovery since my return — or, 


EXTRACTS FROM A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY. 329 


rather, it has been made for me. One of the first 
items of information worthy of notice, which I re- 
ceived from cook, who was apparently bursting with 
that and a sense of her own added importance, in 
having played such a prominent part in the affair, 
was, ‘ Lor’ 1 now, whatever do you think, young 
man? Master’s been and made ’is will, which I was 
the chief witness. There, now, I knowed you’d be 
interested, not bein’ like some as is that jealous 
-through bein’ passed over, and pertends to turn 
up their noses, as though wills was made every day 
and witnesses growed on every ’edge". I must say, 
though, as I should have liked to know what I 
were a-pledgin’ myself to, as I ’ave ’eard o’ people 
signin’ away fortunes unbeknown. But there, I 
always were that trustin’ and confidential, ever since 
I lent my best brooch to a feller servant to get 
married in, as wanted to do ’erself credit, so she 
said, and niwer se heyes on neither of ’em agin. 
Not that I’m at all misdoubtful of what I’ve bin 
and done; and I’m sure that lawyer were a most 
pleasant spoken and ineffable gentleman, though I 
dessay ’e’ll charge hextry for ’is politeness. But 
there, you can’t eggspect anythink for nothink 
nowadays.’ 

“This was a piece of news worth having. Why has 
he suddenly taken this step? What does he anticipate? 
Is it merely an ordinary act of precaution, or does 
it indicate some more than common anxiety — 
some fear of what the future may have in store for 
him? 

“ And if the latter be the case, what is the origin of 
the fear, and what is its nature? Does he begin to 
fear man’s vengeance or God’s? Is he menaced by 
some mortal illness, the chances of which I have 


330 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


before contemplated, or does he mean to commit suicide 
and thus elude the just punishment which might await 
the discovery of his crime ? 

“I have considered the matter from every point of 
view, without being able to arrive at a clear or satis- 
factory answer to either of these questions ; but have 
come to the conclusion that the only way of satisfying 
myself and getting at the heart of the mystery is by 
the means of that key which I have taken so much 
trouble to procure, but which I have not yet brought 
myself to make use of. 

“It is strange that now I hold possession of that 
which I took so many pains to secure, I am conscious 
of a vague* and childish terror with regard to this 
long contemplated step. Is it because I know it will 
bring about the climax? and do I now desire postpone 
this indefinitely ? 

“If this be so, I must take stringent precautions 
against the results of my own folly and weakness. 

‘ ‘ To-day is Tuesday. There is a little shabby prayer- 
book somewhere among my belongings. I will put it 
once and for all out of my power to procrastinate 
further, by fixing upon a certain date and swearing to 
carry out on that, and no other, the purpose which 
has been in my mind so long. 

“To-day, as I have said, is Tuesday — on Friday, 
then, without further delay, I will insert my duplicate 
key in the lock of that door — first of all ascertaining 
that it will fit — and make, what Dr. Jeremiah would 
describe as a felonious entry. 

“ I hardly know what it is that prompts me to 
appoint this one day in particular in the place of 
any other. I do not know, I say, why I do this, 
unless it is because Friday was the day on which 
the 4-30 train from Dover met with that hideous 


EXTRACTS FROM A YOUNG MAN'S DIARY. 331 


catastrophe, by which so many lives were sacrificed — 
because Friday, in the estimation of many, is a day of 
ill-omen — and because Friday was the day on which 
my father was murdered ! 

“ So Friday, or rather Friday night, let it be, 

** Meanwhile, I have to consider Perkins. 

“ She has not shown me so much open animosity 
since my return; but it will not do to count upon 
this. She may be only — as she would, no doubt, 
herself express it, ‘biding her time.’ ‘You don’t 
deceive me,” she said, when I crept downstairs like a 
thief in the night, and was nearly discovered through 
her instrumentality, and should inevitably have been, 
but for her young mistress, who, by some remarkable 
intervention of Providence, stood between me and 
discovery, and thereby became an unconscious agent 
in her own father’s betrayal. 

“But for her sudden appearance upon the scene, 
which put a check upon the other woman’s proceed- 
ings, I might have been ignominiously expelled from 
the house the next morning, unless I had been able 
to explain away my most equivocal conduct by the 
means of more lies. Strange, indeed, that she, the 
daughter, should have acted as my guardian angel 
in this emergency, and thus have hastened the hour 
of her parent’s ruin ! 

“It is well that I made that vow but just now. 
That old, worn prayer-book, given me years ago by 
my father, and which contains my name in his own 
handwriting, reminds me that there is no drawing 
back, unless I would foreswear myself. 

“ Such thoughts as I have but now allowed myself 
to indulge in are not the ones to nerve my arm to 
strike the blow. But the sight of the prayer-book 
recalls the memory of • the giver, and that thought 


332 


T1IE FATAL REQUEST. 


drives out all others — for the time. But is it not 
rather risky to keep such an article by me, when 
there are prying eyes always on the watch, and 
ready to light on anything to my disadvantage? 
I must, at least, find out a securer hiding-place for 
it. And this brings me back again to the woman 
Perkins. 

“ What was the threat she employed towards me on 
that memorable occasion? ‘ I’ll find out what you are 
up to, as sure as name’s Maria Ann Perkins!’ And 
she is a woman who looks as though she would not 
mind to what pains she put herself, or what time 
elapsed, so that she could avenge herself for her fancied 
wrongs. I must beware of Maria Ann Perkins and 
neglect no precautionary measure necessary to divert 
the course of her suspicions. A thing more easily 
said than done. If I had only not made an enemy 
of her in the first place! But this is a vain and 
useless regret now. 

***** 

** Since witing the above lines, some hours ago I 
have made another discovery. My master has remained 
shut up in his private room for the greater part of this 
time, and I, in accordance with my position as spy, 
have hung about the door on the chance of hearing 
some sound, however slight, or catching sight of his 
face as he left the room. 

“ I have often wondered as to the manner in which 
he employs himself on these occasions, when he re- 
mains locked in this chamber for hours. 

“ Sometimes, it is true, he spends his time in 
pacing up and down, up and down, restlessly, like 
a wild beast in his cage. Sometimes I have fancied 
I have heard a heavy sigh, and once — only once — 
I heard him laugh. But all the rest of the time I 


EXTRACTS FROM A YOUNG MAN’S DIARY. 333 


have wondered, did he read, or sleep, or think, or 
what ? 

“To-day there has been no room for doubt. He 
has been writing on and on, ceaselessly. Evidently 
he uses a quill and writes a heavy hand, for I could 
plainly hear the sound the pen made in travelling over 
the paper. 

“ Here is another subject for consideration. 

“He has made his will, and now he is writing. 
Writing what? 

“ Apparently something of importance. 

“ Once, too, I heard the unmistakable sound of the 
tearing of paper. Was he dissatisfied with what he 
had written and tearing it up ? Did he find the com- 
position of the document difficult, and, if so, for whose 
eye was it intended, that so much time and trouble 
were lavished upon it ? 

“ I do not think that he has dispatched a single letter 
of a private nature during the whole term of my service 
here. It is generally my duty to commit all corre- 
spondence to the post ; consequently the addresses on 
all the letters come under my notice, and I think I 
could safely swear that every one of those which I 
have posted were of a purely business or commercial 
character. 

“ In the same way, all those which he receives are 
easily distinguished as coming under the same de- 
nomination. 

“ His daughter’s correspondence is larger, but chiefly, 
if not entirely, confined to her school friends. Some- 
times I am allowed to post her letters — but to return 
to the more important subject. 

“If he is now occupied in writing letters of an un- 
doubtedly private nature, shall I be intrusted with the 
task of carrying them to the post when completed? 


334 THE FATAL BEQUEST. 

Or, if the work upon which he has been engaged 
is of some other description, what will become of 
it when finished, and what will he do with the pieces 
of paper which he has torn up ? Will they be com- 
mitted to the flames, or simply to the waste paper 
basket ? ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE CONTENTS OF A DUSTPAN. 

“ TTTHICH,” said the cook at dinner the next 
' V day, “ ditchwater is the honly word as will 
eggspress the presint company, no offence bein’ meant 
and not hinsinyatin’ nothink agin nobody, feelin’s 
bein’ things as is not to be kintrolled by the best of us, 
and better be low in your mind than in your hidears is 
my motter, but when it comes to not a word bein’ 
spoke for five minnits by the kitching clock, makin’ 
allowance for its being twenty-two minnits fast by 
railway time, it do seem as someone oughter hinterfere 
in a friendly sort o’ way. Not as I’m one as ’olds 
with skylarkin’ at meals ; but there is a meejum — as ’as 
no connecshun with the sperrit rappin’ line — likewise a 
limit, as there is in most things, and I don’t hold with 
boltin’ your food, nor yet in conductin’ of yourselves as 
though chief mourners at a funeral, which is neither 
’ere nor there.” 

And having brought her harangue to a conclusion 
with this enigmatical remark, she leant back in her 
chair with folded arms and surveyed the company, 
two of whom, at least, for the space of time complained 
of, had been occupied, the one apparently with his own 
reflections, and the other in observing him with silent 
intentness, as though she thereby hoped to discover 
what was passing in his mind. 

The former roused himself at the conclusion of the 
speech just recorded. “ I beg your pardon, cook,” he 
said, “ but I was thinking.” 

335 


336 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ Ah ! ” — and she shook her head solemnly — “ a bad 
’abit and one as you oughter break yourself of, as never 
did no good to nobody. I’ve come across lots o’ sich 
cases in my time and in the different places I’ve lived 
in, and they all come to a bad end. There was that 
young Parsons,” she continued, drawing upon her remin- 
iscences, “ ’im as lived jest round the corner as it might 
be, when I were out ’Ammersmith way. That young 
man, he goes and gets crossed in love, through the young 
woman as ’e wanted not recipperocatin’ — as is French 
for tellin’ you to get out. What does that young man 
do ? Why, instead o’ building ’imself up ” 

“ Lor’, cook ! ” in amazement and horror from the 
pretty parlour maid. “ What ! never like they used to 
do, in a hole in the wall, as I’ve read about in 1 The 
Banished Bride ; or, the Marriage in the Mausoleum ? ’ ” 

“ Hinstead o’ building ’imself hup,” cook repeated, 
taking no notice of the interruption, “with beef tea 
and port wine, as is very different things,” she added, 
severely, “ and far more strength’nin’ than bricks and 
morter, so as to take hoff the edge of ’is disapp’intmint, 

’e takes to thinkin’, as flies to ’is ’ed, and the next you 
’ear of ’im ’e’s goin’ round with a pistol and shootin’ 
people permiscus, a thing as was not to be thought of 
for a minnit, so they takes and shuts ’im hup in a 
loonytick hasylum, where ’e’s hallowed to see ’is 
friends once a fortnit, in a straight wescut, as well I 
remember ” 

How much longer she would have rambled on in - 
the same key it is impossible to say, had not another 
note been struck by the parlour maid, who remarked 
that, “ Miss Agnes hadn’t seemed partic’ler cheerful 
the last day or so.” 

The young man Edwards, who, in spite of the warn- 
ing held out by the terrible fate of young Parsons, had 


THE CONTEXTS OF A DUSTPAN. 


33 ’ 


once more resumed his interrupted train of thought, 
seemed as though his attention was arrested by this 
trivial remark and glanced across the table inquiringly. 

“Yes,” added the parlour maid, addressing herself 
to him, as she perceived that what she had said had, 
somehow or other, interested him, “ I’ve caught her 
sighing to herself more than once lately, as though 
she’d something on her mind. P’r’aps ” — with a 
sudden inspiration — “p’r’aps she’s in love — folks 
generally sighs a deal when they’re in love ” — and 
she directed what ought to have been a killing glance 
at the good looking young man opposite to her and 
breathed a sigh on her own account. 

It apparently missed its aim, but something in this 
last remark seemed to excite great derision in the 
breast of Perkins, the housemaid. 

“ In love ! ” she exclaimed. “ Ha, ha ! I like that,” 
and she, too, sent a glance, which might, in a sense, 
have been described as killing — if looks could kill — • 
across the table. “ In love, indeed 1 ” — with withering 
contempt — “ Who with, I should like to know? You 
forget there’s never been sich a thing as a young man 
as she’d look at, or touch with the tips of her fingers ” 
— (there was a strong malicious emphasis on this) — 
“ inside the door once since they’ve been living here.” 

11 Ah 1 ” said the parlour maid, still showing an inclina- 
tion to hold her own, “p’r’aps not. But how about 
before that ? ” And she again sought encouragement 
from the silent but unmistakably a interested member of 
the opposite sex, who certainly seemed, by the expres- 
sion of his face, to be much struck by the acuteness of 
this last remark. “ How about all the time she was at 
boarding school ? Bless you, I’ve been in a situation 
at one, and I know what boarding schools is. I’ve 
known the whole of the first class dying in love with 

22 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


m 

the drawing master, until found out to be married, with 
six children and a wig. And as to the, letters I’ve 
smuggled for one and another, and I don’t care ” — with 
a toss of her head — “ if some folks does look shocked, 
they’d fill a sack, and who’s to say as our Miss Agnes 
hasn’t left her heart behind her ? — so much admired as 
she must have been, too ! ” 

“ Ah,” replied the housemaid, suddenly showing an 
inclination to go over to the enemy and side with her 
rival and invariable opponent, to the latter’s vast 
astonishment, “I don’t say as you mayn’t be right. 
Anyhow, whether she’s in love or whether she isn’t, 
it’s no good if he ain’t her equal. For you may be 
sure her pa’ll never hear of her marrying beneath her.” 

“And quite right, too,” put in cook, who thought it 
was high time she introduced another of her experiences. 
“ Unekal marriages is most always a failure, as ’as 
bin proved over and over agin. Look at my last 
place but three, where the eldest gal took up with 
a young man at the draper’s, as ’er own family 
wouldn’t recognize, and ’er ma in high-stericks if 
anyone so much as menshined sich a sum as heleven- 
pence three-farthings. But for all that ” — with a start- 
ling and instantaneous change of the subject — “ I 
should like to know why that there will, as I ’elped 
to drore up, should be called a ‘ Testament * ? which I 
thought there was but two, the Hold and the New? ” 

“Lor’, cook! ” cried the housemaid, with a sniff, 
“ how your mind do run on that will ! Anyone would 
think as it was the only one as ever was, and nobody 
never signed their names to nothing before.” 

“ Wills there may ’ave bin,” answered cook, majes- 
tically ; “ but seldom one as the cook were sent for, 
all of a ’urry, with ’ardly time to rinse the flour hoff 
’er ’ands, to put ’er name to, which it’s all very well 


T1IE CONTENTS OF A DUSTPAN. 


339 


for some people to try and run down wills,” she added 
darkly and defiantly, “ and pertends to think small 
beer of witnesses, but Time’s a pleesman as is halways 
a-movin’ of us on, and we should make our harrange- 
ments haccordin’, or ’ow about the seven foolish 
virgins? ” 

“Five,” corrected the housemaid, delighted at the 
opportunity of airing her superior knowledge. 

“ Five or seven, Mariarann,” was the unruffled 
response; “I will not be that ill mannered as to 
contradict, but it were a hodd number, any’ow.” 

Just at this point the parlour maid pushed back her 
chair and said, “ Well, she mustn’t sit there gossiping 
any longer, as she’d got her work to do, which was to 
dust the master’s room, where he kept his papers and 
books, which you don’t dare to lay a finger on, 
though, for the matter of that, everything’s always 
put under lock and key before anyone’s allowed to 
take dust pan and broom to it.” 

At this ordinary enough remark, the young man, 
who had been sitting there very quietly while the 
discussion just recorded was raging round him, seemed 
galvanized into sudden action and extraordinary 
civility. 

“Could he — might he be allowed to be of any 
assistance, in lifting anything too heavy for her — such 
as — er — emptying the waste paper basket, or any- 
thing? ” 

The parlour maid looked at him in surprise mingled 
with gratification. 

“ Well, I never did,” she giggled. “ If you aren’t 
just polite all of a sudden ! But master, he’s that 
partic’ler about that old room of his, and I never 
know but what he’s got his eye on me, p’r’aps he 
wouldn’t like it.” 


22—2 


340 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


The young man seemed inclined to press his 
request, but noticing Perkins regarding him in evident 
perplexity, as though not knowing what to make of 
this move, he checked himself and said no more on 
the subject. 

But when the parlour maid’s work was nearly 
completed and she came out of the room with the 
dustpan and brush in her hand, she found him 
waiting patiently outside the door. 

“ Let me — let me relieve you of those things,” he 
said, with an eagerness which, notwithstanding her 
complete confidence in her own charms, she found as 
puzzling as it was delightful. 

After all, there was nothing like a little encourage- 
ment to help a man to know his own mind, and it was 
clear now that the bread, which she had cast upon 
the waters, in the shape of nods and becks and 
wreathed smiles, had not been thrown away — as she 
had once been inclined to fear — upon an ungrateful 
and unproductive element. 

How jealous that Perkins would be when she saw 
them walking out together ! 

“Lor’, Mr. Edwards, I’m sure there’s no need; 
though, of course, if you will insist — but there’s 
nothing in the dustpan but a little flue and some torn 
pieces out of the waste paper basket.” 

You would have thought, by the eager expression on 
the young man’s face and the haste with which he 
relieved her of her very slight . burden, that the dust 
which it contained must have been gold dust at the 
very least. At anyrate, he had his way, and hurried 
off with the articles as though he were half afraid that 
she might change her mind. But, when he arrived at 
the basement, there was nothing but dust and flue left 
in the dust pan. The pieces of paper had disappeared / 


THE CONTENTS OF A DUSTPAN. 


341 


That same night, in the seclusion of his own room, 
he occupied himself in the seemingly vain and useless 
task of separating, sorting and pasting together some 
morsels of writing paper, which had been torn into the 
minutest fragments. 

This delicate and tedious operation, which required 
so much time and patience, seemed, after all, productive 
of the smallest results, and yet the manipulator 
regarded the fruits of his toil with gloomy exultation. 

“I was right when I guessed it to be no ordinary 
letter he was writing,” he muttered. “ This is only the 
heading of the document that he has been engaged in 
drawing up ; but it is sufficient to enable me to arrive 
at the purport of its contents.” 

“ The true narrative and confession of me, James 
Ferrers, of the strange tragedy of the 25th of Ap ” 

“ Ah, James Ferrers, you were guilty of worse than 
a crime — a blunder — when you contented yourself with 
tearing up that sheet of paper into particles, which you 
thought were too minute ever to be deciphered, instead 
of -'burning them on the spot ! 

‘ ‘ But why has he made this confession ? Is it merely 
to relieve his own conscience, or has he some other 
object in view which I cannot at present discern ? 

“ Whatever it may be, that document, that confession 
of his guilt, of which I needed no further confirmation, 
cannot have left this house. It is, no doubt, concealed 
in some secret drawer or hiding-place in that room of 
which I possess the means of entry in the duplicate 
key. Next Friday night may settle that question as 
well as others.” 


CHAPTEE XV. 


A BOBBERY AND A RECOGNITION. 

T HE next day, being Thursday, was not destined 
to pass uneventfully. 

“ To-morrow ! ” said the young man who, for 
prudential reasons, chose to go by the name of 
Edwards, as he rose that morning ; forgetting to take 
into consideration the proceedings of to-day and their 
probable influence on the affairs of to-morrow. 

So, with “ to-morrow ” on his lips, he descended to 
recommence his now familiar round of duties. 

It was not very long before he awoke to a sense 
of mischief brooding m the air. Perhaps it was the 
sight of that pale, narrow face opposite to him as he 
ate his breakfast — a face which, on this occasion, was 
wreathed with a false smile and characterized by a 
general air of great complacency. 

Evidently Perkins was in a high state of good 
humour, so much so that it struck the young man 
with a vague presentiment of impending disaster. 

He had been very cautious in his conduct since his 
return — or at anyrate had flattered himself to this 
extent. At least she could no longer accuse him, with 
any amount of truthfulness, of haunting the footsteps 
of the young lady of the house, whom, indeed, he had 
lately striven to avoid as far as lay in his power. He 
had also endeavoured not to give any further cause of 
offence to Miss Perkins ; but this sudden change of 
front, on her part, alarmed as well as astonished him. 
342 


A ROBBERY AND A RECOGNITION. 


343 


She complimented the cook, showed herself affec- 
tionately forbearing — with the air of one who knows 
better, but still is not above looking leniently upon 
the backslidings of others — towards her rival, the 
parlour maid, and contemplated the young man him- 
self with the slow, self satisfied smile of one who feels 
that she has at last gained the upper hand, and means 
to keep it. He was puzzled to account for this, and 
inclined to think that it boded no good to anyone, and 
particularly to himself. However, he consoled him- 
self with the reflection that there was only one more 
day to elapse before he hoped to be in a position to 
set everyone at defiance; and, surely, in that short 
time, she would be unable to meet with an opportunity 
for wreaking her spite upon him. 

“After to-morrow, the Deluge,” he thought, para- 
phrasing the words of the French monarch. Mean- 
while, there was to-day to be considered ; and, if he 
had only been aware of the fact, the chances of to- 
morrow were already in danger of being seriously jeo- 
pardized by the events of the more immediate present. 

“ Whatever’s come to Mariarann? ” asked the cook, 
who was also struck by the change. “I’ve never 
knowed ’er took that way afore. Hackshully offered 
to darn a pair of stockings for me, which, what with 
the preservin’ and other things, my ’ands is full and 
my toes is hout. Which ‘ Make ’ay while the sun 
shines, as there’s no knowin’ ’ow long the weather’ll 
’old up,’ is my motter, but let’s ’ope it’ll last.” 

“ And she’s been and called me ‘ dear ’ to my very 
face,” said the parlour maid, taking up the parable ; 
“which you might have knocked me down with a 
duster, I was that took aback, and hardly knew 
whether I was awake or dreaming. I wonder what it 
means ? ” 


344 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


One member of the household was soon to discover 
this. Miss Perkins came upon him unexpectedly, as 
he was - stooping with his back towards her, and 
apparently engaged in closely examining the keyhole 
of the door belonging to his master’s private room. 

“What’s that you’re doing?” she cried, sharply. 

The individual thus addressed started violently, and 
something fell to the ground with a chink — something 
which he immediately covered with his foot before he 
turned and faced her without making any reply — 
chiefly because he had no excuse ready at the time, 
and therefore took refuge in silence as the safest 
course. She looked at him viperishly. 

“ You’ve changed your ways lately,” she said, seeing 
he made no answer, “and are always hanging about 
this door. What’s your game, I should like to 
know? ” 

“ Ah,” he said, calmly, thinking after all that it 
would soon be over now, and, therefore, he need not 
trouble for the little time that remained to make any 
attempt at conciliation, “ that’s it. That is just what 
you don’t know and are not likely to find out.” 

“ I don’t so much know about that,” she answered, 
spitefully. “ Perhaps I know more already than you’re 
aware of? Anyhow, you aren’t up to no good. People 
as gets into respectable houses under false names very 
seldom is up to any good /” 

With this Parthian shaft she turned away and left 
him, looking back once over her shoulder, with that 
same malicious smile, as she marked the effect it had 
produced. What did she mean by that remark of hers 
about a false name? How could she have found it 
out? The shot was too near the bull’seye to have 
been fired at random. Good heavens ! Was it pos- 
sible she could have any suspicion of the real truth? 


A ROBBERY AND A RECOGNITION. 


345 


and, if so, how, in the name of all that was incompre- 
hensible, had she attained to it ? He had received no 
letters, save those two or three from Dr. Cartwright, 
and those, from motives of caution, were always 
destroyed as soon as read. 

There was no source whatever from which she might 
have obtained this information — Ah ! 

He flew up the stairs at a tremendous rate, flight 
after flight, to the top of the house, to his own room, 
burst the door open and entered. 

There was a modest looking box in the corner of the 
room — a box which contained his few belongings. 

Had he remembered to re-lock this on the last time 
when he had occasion to resort to it ? 

A couple of seconds were enough to answer this 
question in the negative. 

No, the lid offered no resistance to his hand. 

He began to turn over the articles which it con- 
tained, but could not hit upon the thing he was in 
search of. 

Then he began to toss the contents out pell-mell 
upon the floor, until the box was empty. He drew a 
long breath of horrified bewilderment and ran his 
fingers distractedly through his hair. The little 
shabby prayer-book, containing his real name in his 
father's own handwriting, was gone l Gone ! Stolen ! 

That hateful woman, with her sly cat-like step and 
hypocritical ways, had taken advantage of his one act 
of carelessness, in leaving the box unlocked, to pry 
into its contents and carry off the most compromising 
article of all. 

He sat down upon the floor, leaned his head upon 
his hand and groaned. What was to be done ? 

The inscription on the fly-leaf had evidently enabled 
her to hit upon the truth. She had rushed at once to 


346 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


the correct conclusion that the name written in the 
prayer-book was his real one, and, taken unawares as 
he had been just now, his manner must have shown 
her only too plainly that she had not erred. The 
question was, would she be content to keep this 
knowledge to herself, and be satisfied with the hold 
its possession, so nefariously obtained, gave her over 
him ? Or would she carry it to her master ? 

“Which?” He asked himself the question fever- 
ishly. - 

If the former, he could swallow his pride sufficiently 
to prevail upon himself to put up with her veiled gibes 
and insults for a short — a very short time longer. 
Even if he had to bribe her to silence, he must 
manage to keep her quiet over to-morrow. 

If the latter — well, looking at the matter dispas- 
sionately, he was inclined to think that she would 
hardly care to go to such lengths as this ; especially, 
as in order to make her story good she must acknow- 
ledge the shady and dishonest means by which she 
had obtained possession of her piece of evidence. She 
must own that she had made an unlicensed search 
among his private property, and robbed, or, at least, 
taken possession of a portion of his possessions. 

Here he broke out into a sudden fit of cynical 
laughter. This was throwing stones, with a vengeance, 
on the part of one who lived in a glass house. For 
she — the woman Perkins — had only been guilty in a 
lesser degree of the very same act which he was him- 
self premeditating. 

She had broken into the box which contained his 
secret, as he himself intended to break into the room 
which contained another’s. 

There was something droll in the matter, if one 
came to regard it in this light. 


A ROBBERY AND A RECOGNITION. 


347 


He remembered to have handled the prayer-book as 
recently as Tuesday. Consequently, he was inclined 
to think that she must have taken advantage of the 
seven o’clock dinner on the following day, when she 
knew he would be engaged, and she herself free from 
interruption, to pursue her investigations, the result of 
which she must have considered to have well rewarded 
her for her pains. 

Well, the damage was done and could not be 
repaired. The only thing, now, was to try and stave 
off the discovery of the double part he had been 
playing a little while longer. 

After all, Dr. Cartwright had been correct when he 
declared that it must come out sooner or later. If 
only he might count upon to-morrow ! 

It was not as though the name had been any other. 

“EDWARD BURRITT, 

“ On his 13th birthday, with his father’s love.” 

The one name of all others which must neces 
sarily strike terror to the heart of the master of the 
house, if the woman, on the pretence of doing her 
duty, took her discovery, together with the little worn 
volume which had been the means of making it, to 
him. 

And the result — who could doubt it? — craven terror 
on the one hand, and on the other instant dismissal, 
and the total collapse of his carefully prepared scheme 
upon what he was convinced was the very verge of 
success. 

Oh, if that cursed woman would only hold her 
tongue for at least another twenty-four hours ! 

After a time he rose from his grovelling attitude 
with his mind fully made up. There was only one 
course to pursue, and he would pursue it. 


348 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


He* must appear totally ignorant of the theft, and 
receive every allusion or insinuation with an affected 
utter lack of comprehension. Let her suspect what 
she might, let her act and talk as she would, he must 
keep up the delusion and try to baffle her for at least 
one more day. Or else, if she seemed inclined to 
show her teeth — if she appeared disposed to be 
dangerous, he must hurry on the matter, and it was 
strange what a superstitious reluctance he had to make 
any alteration in the date he had originally fixed. 

It appeared to him that he had been led, so he 
chose to put it, to select the night of Friday for his 
questionable proceedings, and that he would only risk 
defeat by any divergence from the plan marked out. 
And having decided thus, he replaced the scattered 
contents of the box, locked it — thinking, as he did so, 
of the proverb relating to the steed and the stable 
door — and went his way. 

A little later in the day, as he was absently staring 
out of a window in the hall, he heard a faint, rustling 
sound, and, looking up, saw Miss Ferrers descending 
the staircase.^ He allowed his eyes to rest upon her 
for an instant, telling himself that his opportunities 
for doing so would soon be at an end now. 

She must have felt his glance, for a certain air of 
embarrassment seemed to fall upon her, and the colour 
rose in her face. 

Then she gave herself an impatient twitch, as though 
she said to herself, “ Stand upon your dignity and do 
not allow the impertinent gaze of a mere menial to 
discompose you ! ” 

One of the effects of the twitch was, that it caused 
her to drop a magazine which she was carrying, just 
as her foot was upon the last step. 

Before she could stoop to reclaim it, there was a 


A ROBBERY AND A RECOGNITION. 349 


hurried dart across the hall, on the part of the menial 
in question, and the article was restored to her with, 
what was not so much the respectful deference of an 
inferior, as the ordinary and natural courtesy of an 
equal. 

The effect of this simple act of politeness upon its 
recipient was as singular as unexpected. For a 
moment she stood motionless, holding the magazine 
in one hand, while she looked at the individual before 
her with a puzzled, searching expression upon her 
countenance. Then a sudden light seemed to break 
in upon her — she gave a gasp — her expression changed 
from curiosity to amazement, and, uttering a little 
cry, she turned sharply round and ran rapidly up the 
staircase, leaving the other a prey to the liveliest 
astonishment. What other remarkable incidents was 
the day to bring forth ? 

Meanwhile, the young lady had regained the strong- 
hold of her own apartment, locked the door, and, 
throwing the now despised magazine into a corner, 
sat down to confide the state of her feelings to the 
keeping of her faithful diary : — 

“ A most extraordinary thing has happened,” she 
wrote. “ My head is in a whirl and I hardly know 
what I am writing, or what to do, or think. To 
imagine that I have so often puzzled myself over that 
young man’s likeness to someone else, a likeness which 
I could never quite fix, though I have often seemed 
just on the point of doing so. Very likely I should 
never have hit upon it but for that, apparently, utterly 
insignificant action of mine in dropping the book I was 
carrying. He rushed forward to pick it up and 
returned it to me and — all at once it struck me like 
a flash where I had seen him before. It was the same 
circumstance — the same action — and the same young 


350 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


man ! The young man who had picked up my catalogue 
at the Boyal Academy / 

“ It is a most extraordinary thing and takes my breath 
away even while I write it ; but there is no mistake 
about it. There could not possibly be two people so 
exactly alike and with precisely the same manner — 
unless — this is a twin brother of the other. But, if so, 
how is it that one is a gentleman and the other only a 
servant ? And, if not, how is it that the well dressed, 
gentlemanly young fellow I saw at the Boyal Academy 
has come down to such an extent as to be compelled 
to get a living by going into service ? The other man 
was undoubtedly a gentleman and, to make matters 
worse, I am obliged to recognize the fact that this 
one, whose name is Edwards, is also a gentleman. A 
gentleman in his appearance, his actions, and his way 
of expressing himself. A gentleman in livery I A 
gentleman who waits at table and cleans the knives ! 

“Was there ever such a combination met with 
before, and what — oh, what is the reason for his 
extraordinary conduct, unless — unless he is the Prince 
in Disguise, after all I 

“ How the girls at school would envy me ! I am 
living in the same house with a real live Mystery 1 ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PERKINS’ REVENGE. 



RIDAY morning came, bringing with it, about 


eleven o’clock, a message which struck a feeling 
of chill foreboding to the heart of the individual whom 
it concerned. 

The master of the house desired to speak with the 
young man Edwards at once, in the dining room. 
What did it mean? Was it merely some matter of 
small importance in connection with his household 
duties to which he wished to draw his attention 
personally, or ? 

His presence was requested in the dining room, and 
to that apartment he took his way with lagging step 
and perplexed brow. Probably it was only a false 
alarm, for which the present state of his nerves was 
mainly responsible. He knocked at the door, and, 
as he turned the handle, wondered what was before 
him. 

Mr. Ferrers was sitting in his place at the head of 
the table. There was something judicial-looking in his 
attitude and expression, and, standing at a short 
distance from him, was the housemaid, Perkins. 

Ah, there was no room left now for doubt as to the 
object of that peremptory summons ! It meant check- 
mate, or nearly so. 

He grasped the situation at a glance, as he collected 
all his faculties to help to tide him over the next few 
minutes ; and, without betraying the faintest surprise 
or uneasiness, he stood respectfully waiting, with his 


351 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


3. r i2 

hand upon the door, as though entirely devoid of all 
suspicion as to the real reason why his attendance 
was required. 

He also refrained from showing, by so much as the 
flicker of an eyelash, any consciousness of any other 
presence save that of his master. 

“ Come in and shut the door,” was the first 
sentence addressed to him. 

He obeyed noiselessly and carefully, more than ever 
mindful of his assumed position and grateful for each 
second’s delay, which allowed him the opportunity of 
searching his brain for some way out of the dilemma. 

If it had only been any other name written in the 
Prayer-book but that one which the man — his master 
— who now confronted him sternly, could not fail to 
recognize and tremble at ! 

What had she done with the Prayer-book ? It was 
not anywhere visible. 

Perhaps she was reserving it for the final coup? 
Perhaps she had been ashamed, or afraid, to own the 
means by which she had obtained her information? 
If so, it might be comparatively easy to refute her 
story — to hatch up some explanation which 

“Edwards” — it was the voice of his master and 
enemy addressing him — ‘ ‘ I have one or two very 
serious questions to put to you.” 

The young man bent his head deferentially, and 
seemed to intimate his entire readiness to answer all 
inquiries. 

“ It has been brought to my notice — that is, I have 
reason to believe ” — the voice continued, as its owner 
seemed to experience some difficulty in opening up the 
subject — “ that I have been deceived in you, and — in 
fact, that the name under which you are at present 
passing, is not your own. Is that so ? ” 


PERKINS' REVENGE. 


353 


He paused for an answer, and the housemaid gave a 
cough, as much as to say, “ how are you going to get 
out of that? I think, this time, you are fairly 
caught ! ” 

But the object of her spite was equal to the occasion, 
and answered, respectfully, “ Begging your pardon, 
sir, but the name I am going under is my own. Might 
I be allowed to ask, who says anything to the 
contrary ? ” 

This answer, being unexpected on the part of the 
woman who was present, caused her to give a snort of 
contempt and incredulity. “ So he’s going to brazen 
it out, is he?” she said to herself. “We shall see.” 
Meanwhile, Mr. Ferrers looked slightly nonplussed. 

“You mean to maintain that your name is Edwards, 
after all?” he inquired, bending his brows upon Miss 
Perkins, whose-^as he now thought fit to describe it — 
unwarrantable interference in the matter had subjected 
him to this annoyance. 

“My name is Edward, sir. An ‘s’ at the end 
makes it sound better, and I thought there was no 
objection to my adding the letter.” 

This was the reply, given in the same low but dis- 
tinct voice of one who knew his place and kept it ; 
and yet if the gentleman at the head of the table could 
have looked beneath that outwardly calm and deferen- 
tial demeanour, he would have beheld a very whirlpool 
of fear and fury boiling within. Fear, lest he should 
be about to bring upon himself instant dismissal, and 
fury that the man, into the inmost recesses of whose 
guilty secret he felt he had all but penetrated, over 
whose head the hangman’s noose seemed to dangle 
lower and lower as he sat there — should dare to judge 
him — to bring a charge, whether true or false, against 
the son of his father ! That he, whose life was a living 

23 


354 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


lie, should presume to accuse him of prevarication ! 
He was consumed with rage at the thought, but he 
disguised his face as he had his personality, and his 
features only expressed the natural indignation and 
surprise of one who feels that he is undergoing an un- 
merited accusation. 

“Then your name, according to your own state- 
ment, is Edward, and you have merely added the final 
letter. If so, I am sorry ” 

This was more than the woman could stand, and 
she broke in, unceremoniously upon her master’s 
speech, “ Edward ! Edward what, I should like to 
know? He’s deceiving you, sir, in trying to make out 
as that’s his surname. Ask him what the other is and 
why he’s had to drop it ? ” 

Mr. Ferrers looked from one to the other and 
seemed, in a measure, disappointed ^hat the matter 
had not ended then and there. “ Hang the woman ! ” 
was his mental reflection. “ Why couldn’t she have 
kept her suspicions to herself and not come bothering 
me with them and giving me all this trouble of investi- 
gating the matter ? It is quite evident that she has a 
spite against the young fellow, whom I have always 
found most civil and obliging. I am sorry I con- 
sented to listen to her in the first place.” 

He turned towards him, wearily. “ Is the woman 
right in asserting that the name which you have given 
is only your Christian name ? In which case it would 
seem that you have added the other letter for the 
purpose of making it do duty as a surname? ” 

There was a second’s hesitation, during which the 
housemaid bit her lip with impatience, before the 
answer came, slowly — 

“ My Christian name is Edward ; it did not seem to 
me to be of any importance which I gave.” 


PERKINS’ REVENGE . 


355 


Perkins sniffed triumphantly. “ So you’re going to 
try and get out of it that way,” she thought, “ but it 
won’t do.” 

Something in this last answer had helped to raise 
his master’s suspicions. 

“I must insist upon your giving me your right 
name,” he said, authoritatively. 

There was no answer ; but, at the thought of what 
the effect would be were he to comply with this 
demand, a faint, bitter smile hovered for an instant 
upon the young man’s countenance, and vanished 
almost before it could be said, with any amount of 
certainty, to have existed. Nevertheless, the expres- 
sion, fleeting though it was, had been observed by the 
elder man, and its apparent insolence excited his 
wrath. 

“ I insist upon your telling me the truth 1 ” he com- 
manded. 

“ Shall I answer him with a lie? ” was the thought 
which passed through the other’s mind. “ Surely, one 
more need not weigh very heavily upon my conscience ? 
And in such a cause ! ” 

But, in the same instant, the face of this man’s 
daughter rose up before him. “ How she would 
despise him, if she knew,” he thought, with a sudden 
reaction and a sense of self-contempt, as he answered, 
still respectfully enough — 

“ I should prefer not to mention it.” 

“ Oh, you would prefer not to mention it, would 
you ? And what have you done to make you ashamed 
to own it ? ” exclaimed Perkins, the housemaid, who 
was carried away by her feelings at this point, in a 
tone of triumph. 

She had better have remained silent. 

“ Hold your tongue, woman,” was the angry repri- 

23—2 


356 THE FATAL REQUEST. 

mand she brought upon herself. “ This is no business 
of yours.” 

Woman, indeed ! A crowning insult ! And to be 
told to hold her tongue ! 

But she must put up with it. So she made a gulp 
in her throat, as though swallowing a pill, and shut 
her thin lips tightly ; while her master, turning again 
to the young man, repeated his question, with the 
addition of the inquiry suggested by the last remark 
of the woman Perkins — 

“ What have you done that you are ashamed of 
your name ? ” 

“Nothing,” was the proud reply, given with head erect 
and defiant; and there was something about the manner 
and tone by which the other was obviously impressed. 

“ Why, then, do you refuse to answer the question 
I have put to you? ” he asked, in a milder voice. 

“ There are family reasons,” was the answer. 

Family reasons ! A man-servant with family rea- 
sons, just at though he were anyone else, instead of 
being a useful sort of machine, hired out at so much a 
year, with board and lodging ! No wonder there was 
something incongruous in the sound ! 

“ I have nothing to do with your reasons,” was the 
answer, “ and I must absolutely decline to retain any- 
one in my service under a false name.” 

He knew now that it was coming — notice to leave 
on the spot. Or might there not be a reprieve ? He 
was entitled to a month’s notice in the ordinary course 
of things. Oh, why had he procrastinated so long and 
wasted such golden opportunities ? A month’s warning 
— that was all he prayed for. A month ?- — another day 
was all he asked. 

“ Then you refuse to give me your proper name? I 
ask this for the last time.” 


PERKINS' REVENGE. 357 

Before he could reply the housemaid put in another 
word. 

“ Begging your pardon for speaking, after being told 
to hold my tongue, but it’s something beginning with 
a * B ’ — as I saw it myself in a Prayer-book I came 
across accidental, and thought it my duty to the family 
to take possession of, being brought up to hate any- 
thing underhand.” 

“ So that is how you came by your information,” 
said her master. “ Something beginning with a * B,’ 
is it ? Suppose you let me see the book ? ” 

“ Which I intended to have showed it to you at the 
first — not being able to make out the name myself — 
but for being taken up short and not allowed time,” 
she said, fumbling in her pocket and producing the 
well worn little volume, which she was about to hand 
to her master, when 

A sudden dart — a long arm was stretched out, and 
a powerful hand wrested it from her. 

“ This is my property,” exclaimed its owner, sternly; 
“ to obtain which you deliberately searched among my 
private possessions, taking advantage of my being 
engaged elsewhere. This is my property, and ” — with 
determination — “ a§ such, no one else has any right to 
it. The name written within may be mine or another’s, 
but so long as I choose to keep it secret — secret it 
shall remain.” 

He had quite forgotten the part he was playing in 
the indignation of the moment, and speech and action 
alone might have betrayed him to the man who called 
himself his master, had not the eyes of his under- 
standing been blinded by anger at this insolence on the 
part of a servant. And yet he could not but own that 
he — the accused — cut a much better figure than his 
accuser, who had uttered a shrill cry as the book was 


358 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


forced from her, and now stood baffled and vindictive. 
What a good looking young fellow he was, and with what 
an air he drew himself up, more as though he were an 
equal — but of course that only added to his insolence. 
Still it seemed hard to believe that there could be any- 
thing shady in his antecedents — though you never 
knew. 

“This is most extraordinary conduct ! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Ferrers, at last; “most extraordinary! Though 
I may not approve of the manner by which the 
information was arrived at, I cannot deny its im- 
portance.” 

Symptoms of suppressed but lively satisfaction were 
noticeable on the part of the evangelical one. 

“Under the circumstances,” he continued, “only one 
course of conduct is open to me. It is impossible for 
me to harbour under my roof one who has obtained 
admittance under a false name, and absolutely refuses 
any explanation. I must, therefore ” — assuming his 
severest expression, while the young man seemed to 
hold his breath as he waited for the sentence to be 
pronounced upon him — “I must, therefore, discharge 
you at once, and with a month’s wages in lieu of the 
ordinary notice.” 

It was all up. 

“ I cannot but suspect,” continued Mr. Ferrers, 
“ that the name being false the character may have 
been false also.” 

The housemaid smiled approval of this sentiment. 

“ You do not answer me. Am I to conclude that I 
have hit upon the truth? ” 

Feeling himself thus driven into a corner by his 
enemy, whom he could hardly refrain from branding 
as murderer, the young man set his teeth together 
2o keep back the words of impotent rage which 


PERKINS’ REVENGE. 


359 


he burned to utter, and answered, Jesuitically, that 
the character was true enough, which, as far as it 
regarded the qualifications of which it stated him to be 
possessed, it certainly was. 

“ In any case,” was the severe reply, “ you had 
better not apply to me for another. You can go I ” 

This dismissal included the man and the woman. 

“ When — when am I to leave ? ” inquired the former, 
with eyes fixed upon the floor and heart beating 
furiously. 

This question seemed to take the person to whom 
it was addressed unawares. 

“ When ! ” he answered ; “ why — oh ! as soon as you 
can ; or ” — with a slightly more lenient tone, as he re- 
flected that, after all, as the fellow himself had said, 
there might be reasons, not necessarily bad, for the 
concealment — ** you can remain until to-morrow, if you 
like.” 

Victory ! Another night, which was all he required. 

He could scarcely prevent himself from showing some 
signs of exultation. Ah ! perhaps by this time to- 
morrow the situation might be changed. He might 
be the judge, and another 

“ Stay one moment,” Mr. Ferrers continued. 

This time he addressed the woman Perkins, who had 
reached the door. 

“As I have also a strong objection to persons who 
e pry into other people’s concerns and interfere with 
their private property, you may as well take a month’s 
notice at the same time. That will do ; you can go.” 

The biter was bit. She had not a word to say for 
herself, beyond a muttered repetition of the phrase — 
“ My duty to the family.” What was more, she was 
conscious that no amount of words would serve to 
reverse the decision just pronounced. 


360 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


She had succeeded in wreaking her spite upon him 
who had despised her attractions and repulsed her 
overtures, but she had done it at the expense of a good 
situation. Moreover, the man whose disgrace she 
had laboured to secure laughed in her face as he 
passed her. 




CHAPTEB XTO. 

THE ENVELOPE WITH THREE SEALS. 

I T was twelve o’clock on Friday night. The clock 
in the hall below had struck the hour. The 
whole house was wrapped in darkness and profound 
silence. 

Another half-hour ticked slowly by, and at the end 
of that time a door in the upper part of the house was 
opened softly and by imperceptible degrees. 

The room within was in darkness, and the figure of 
the man who cautiously emerged was barely visible in 
the general gloom. 

He remained for a moment stationary upon the 
threshold and listened. 

Sundry muffled sounds issuing from the adjoining 
apartment proclaimed that at least one of its occupants 
was wrapped in slumber. He experienced a kindly 
sensation towards this same individual who, it is 
hardly necessary to mention, was the cook, and who 
had been much distressed at hearing of his imminent 
departure, refusing to believe in the existence of any- 
thing to his discredit, and declaring, with tears in her 
eyes, that she “ felt like a sister towards him.” 

She was asleep, and it was hardly likely that anyone 
else remained awake. 

He crept lightly on his stockinged feet past the 
doors of the rooms on the upper floor, and began to 
descend the staircase. 

He gained the next floor, and passed the door of the 
chamber in which she slept — his enemy’s daughter I 
361 


362 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


He paused and listened here, mindful of the risk he 
had run on that former occasion. 

But not the slightest sound came from within, and, 
with a heavy sigh, breathed, he scarcely knew why, he 
once more continued his stealthy progress. 

It was much in his favour, the stairs being so well 
and so massively constructed, that there was no start- 
ling and treacherous creaking to betray the feet which 
trod them secretly in the dead of night. And so he 
made his way, slowly and safely, to the floor on which 
the room was situated into which he was minded to 
penetrate. After careful and noiseless search, he 
succeeded in laying his hand upon a candle and a box 
of matches, which, earlier in the evening, he had 
secreted in a convenient but out-of-the-way comer. 

He struck a match, and, lighting the candle, advanced 
towards the door of the apartment into the lock of 
which he inserted his duplicate key. 

It went a little hard, but upon the employment of a 
small amount of force, it opened with a slight grating 
sound. The noise it made was very slight, but it was 
sufficient to disguise the sound of another door softly 
opening in the upper part of the house. He entered 
and closed the door behind him, without, however, 
completely shutting it. Then he drew a long breath 
and looked round him. 

It was a plainly furnished room, reminding him 
somewhat of his father’s study at home, except that 
the furniture was much newer, and the writing table in 
the centre a much heavier and handsomer article. A 
waste paper basket stood beneath, and a chair with a 
revolving seat was before it. 

He put his candle down on the writing table while 
he considered what was to be done next. The waste 
paper basket first attracted his attention as being at 


THE ENVELOPE WITH THREE SEALS. 363 


once the nearest and the easiest object on which to 
exercise his powers of investigation. 

It was about a quarter full of torn fragments, which 
he promptly emptied out before him. A rapid and 
cursory examination was sufficient to prove that these 
were chiefly composed of circulars and prospectuses, 
together with a begging letter or two. The size of the 
strips into which they were torn was alone enough to 
show that they were of no private nor important nature. 
So he swept them back into their original receptacle. 

The next thing to be done must be to tackle the 
writing table which, with its many locked drawers and 
compartments, was a most formidable undertaking. 
How was this to be accomplished? Shocking to relate, 
he produced from his pocket nothing less than — a 
bunch of skeleton keys I 

As he bent over his task, with a determined jaw and 
frowning brow, the solitary candle casting dark shadows 
upon his face, he might well have been taken by a spec- 
tator for a most desperate ruffian, of the Bill Sikes 
order ; and, just at that moment, the door which he 
had pushed to, but not closed, opened a little wider, 
moving noiselessly on its hinges, as though impelled by 
the breath of the most delicate zephyr. 

But now he was too much absorbed in his most un- 
gentlemanly job to stop to listen for sounds which 
might, or might not, exist, or appearances which might 
be conjured up by a feverish or disordered brain. 

To his great disappointment one after another of the 
drawers upon the right hand proved to be empty. 
He turned his attention to those on his left. The top 
drawer, on being forced open, was found to be full to 
overflowing with bills, receipted. The next was simi- 
larly filled, with the exception that the bills, in this 
instance, were unreceipted. The next contained ac- 


364 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


count books and memorandums of expenditure, also a 
cheque book. The next to this held letters, carefully- 
tied up in packets, all in the same handwriting and 
bearing the same postmark. They were his daughter’s 
letters, written during the time she was at boarding 
school, and the young man’s heart failed him for a 
moment as he contemplated the innocent contents of 
that fourth drawer. Then, with a little groan, he 
closed it sharply, regardless of the sound he made in 
doing so. But he was getting careless now, and had 
lost all fear of detection, though, had it occurred to 
him to turn round at that particular moment, he could 
hardly have helped noticing that the door was much 
wider open now than he had left it. But he went on 
with his work feverishly, as he remembered that, up 
till now, he had come upon nothing ; and the clock on 
the mantelpiece had already chimed the quarter after 
two. Then he noticed another drawer, beneath a row of 
pigeon holes, which were crammed full of newspapers, 
nothing but newspapers. 

He put his hand to one, and pulled out the tightly 
wedged contents. He spread it open ; yes, it was a 
newspaper — some months old. What could be the 
reason for preserving it ? A sudden thought — he looked 
at the date, and then — Yes, there it was on the inside 
sheet. “ Terrible Railway Accident ! The 4*30 train 
from Dover wrecked and partially consumed ! ” There 
was a full account of that ghastly affair, with minute 
details of all the horrors — a recollection of which re- 
turned to him, most vividly as he scanned the column. 
He replaced the first, and took down another and 
another. 

“ Further details — number of bodies found — distress- 
ing scenes — the inquest — the verdict — mysterious dis- 
covery with regard to a first class passenger — foul play 


THE ENVELOPE WITH THREE SEALS. 365 


suspected ! — Verdict of Wilful Murder ! ” And so on and 
so on he retraced his way through the whole of that 
dark tragedy — wasting what he felt to be precious 
time, but unable to tear his attention away from these 
- records of the past. 

To think that the miserable man had retained all 
this amount of dangerous matter within his reach ! 
Was this how he passed those many hours during 
which he was invisible? — in reading and re-reading 
the accounts of the various awful incidents which 
were associated with and followed the committal of 
his crime? In gloating over the descriptions of the 
mutilated bodies and poring over the account of the 
inquest? And, if so, could he read that verdict of 
“ wilful murder against some person, or persons 
unknown ” without flinching, without turning pale and 
trembling? Or, did he feel himself so safe, so free 
from suspicion that his eye could rest upon that 
ominous line unmoved ? The clock on the mantlepiece 
struck another quarter, effectually rousing him from 
the reverie in which he was plunged; and, at the 
same time, there came a faint sound, from the direction 
of the door, almost as though someone had drawn 
their breath impatiently. 

He rammed the last paper back into its pigeon-hole 
and turned his attention again to the drawer beneath. 
He found this harder to deal with than the other, but, 
when it at last yielded to his efforts, he was rewarded 
by the sight of a flatly folded packet of parchment, 
tied with tape — the identical last will and testament 
which he had heard spoken of so often by cook. But 
this, though of interest in one way, was not that of 
which he was in search, and he began to feel a qualm 
of fear lest, after all, his quest should prove useless. 
There were still other drawers in the writing table 


366 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


unexplored, but it was more than probable that that 
which he hoped to discover might be contained in some 
secret hiding-place against which false keys were of 
no avail. 

The mere idea of failure' at last — failure after all he 
had suffered and endured — was maddening. And yet 
to fail would be to spare her father the ignominy 

of But he would not give in yet. He would not 

fail. 

His eye, roaming restlessly about, was caught by 
the gleam of brass in a dark corner. The candle, 
which was sufficient to light him at his task, still left 
the greater part of the room in semi-darkness, and 
there was something over there, in that corner, which 
he had not taken into account. 

It was an old fashioned piece of furniture — the only 
shabby and evidently second hand article in the room 
It was an upright article and was divided into two 
portions, the lower containing drawers and the upper 
being shut in with doors, which were fitted with a 
brass lock and fastening. 

It was old and much scratched, and had apparently 
seen considerable use; but must have been a good 
article originally. He took the candle in his hand 
and, crossing the room, inspected it closely. “ I 
wonder where he bought it?” he muttered; “not at 
one of those mammoth establishments from which the 
rest of the furniture came ; this looks more like 
War dour Street. There is a look about it ” — holding 
the candle up higher — “ as though it might have a 
history attached to it. It looks” — with a sudden 
impulse — “ as though it might be trusted to keep a 
secret.” He put the candle upon the mantelpiece 
close by and again resumed his burglarious operations. 
“ I shall soon be able to pass muster as an experienced 


THE ENVELOPE WITH THREE SEALS. 367 


house-breaker, at this rate,” he remarked to himself, 
with grim irony, as the lock turned traitor, and the 
door, swinging open, revealed a number of drawers 
within, each garnished with a lock and brass handle. 
As he made this last remark to himself, there was a 
sound, so slight as to be almost inaudible, in the hall 
without. 

“ What was that ? ” he asked himself, with a sudden 
irrepressible feeling of alarm — a presentiment of 
danger — which he had not experienced up till then. 

Taking his candle in his hand, he glided swiftly and 
stealthily to the door ; opened it wide and, standing 
upon the threshold, held up the light so that it faintly 
illumined both hall and staircase. 

But they were as dark and empty as before, and 
after a few seconds spent in listening and waiting he 
re-entered the room. “ It was nothing,” he said to 
himself. But, none the less, the false alarm had 
shaken his nerve, and it was with a feeling of consider- 
able uneasiness that he returned to his work. 

There were several drawers before him. Which 
should he attack first ? Much time had already been 
wasted, and at that moment, as though in answer, the 
clock on the mantelpiece chimed three, while the clock 
in the hall without repeated the hour after it. 

“I will try the third first,” he said, and inserted 
one of his skeleton keys into the lock. This drawer 
— the third in order from the top — on being opened 
showed itself, strangely enough, to contain three 
articles, all of a widely different character. 

These were a large and bulky envelope, a revolver 
and a small bottle of colourless fluid. The young man 
could not repress an exclamation of surprise and 
triumph as his eye fell upon these. 

The secret he had been in search of so long lay 


368 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


ready to his hand — the proofs of the crime were there, 
waiting for him to grasp them. He knew it, and yet 
hesitated. The shock of the discovery seemed to 
paralyze his hand, so that for an instant he was 
unable to stretch it forth and take possession of 
what he believed would make him master of a man’s 
fate. 

At last he put out his hand, which trembled as he 
did so, and took up the revolver. It was a six- 
chamber revolver, and a glance showed that one only 
of the chambers had been discharged. 

A fierce, hungry look came over his face as he 
noticed this, and, laying the weapon down, he searched 
for something which he always carried about with him 
— the conical shaped bullet which had been discovered 
in the stuffing of the fourth carriage from the engine. 
He dropped it into the empty chamber, which it fitted 
exactly. 

“ Proof number one ! ” he said, with a grim joy, as 
he felt the dreadful thirst for blood return upon him 
with all its former strength. He laid the revolver 
down and took up the small stoppered bottle. What 
was this, and what bearing had its contents upon the 
matter? He removed the stopper and inhaled the 
contents carefully. A strong and unmistakable odour 
of bitter almonds greeted him. Prussic Acid, beyond 
doubt ! What did this point to ? There seemed to be 
only one answer possible — Suicide ! A means of 
escape provided in case of the worst happening. He 
replaced the stopper and placed the bottle by the side 
of the revolver, while he took up the third and last 
article. This was the envelope before mentioned. It 
was large and thick and sealed in no less than three 
places. On it, in place of an address, were written the 
strange words — “To be burnt, unopened, after my death” 


THE ENVELOPE WITH THREE SEALS. 3G9 


To be burnt, unopened, after his death ! — what did that 
mean ? Why, if it were to be burnt, unopened, had he 
put himself to the pains of writing it ? For that the 
envelope contained the completed copy of the “ true 
narrative and confession of the strange tragedy ” he 
had not the least doubt. Perhaps, like the prussic 
acid, was only a precaution, and in this true narrative 
and confession he had attempted to explain away or 
deny his guilt ? But why had he described it as the 
strange’ tragedy? Cowardly and detestable it might 
well be — but why strange ? 

“ At anyrate, so far from its being burnt, unopened,” 

he said, aloud, “ I will now myself ” 

He held the letter in one hand and, with the other ! 
he was about to break the seals, when a voice cried : 
“ Stop l ” 


24 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE ENIGMA, 


E turned and saw behind him none other than 



1-X that same James Eerrers, whose narrative and 
confession he held in his hand ; and again, lurking 
behind him in the shadow of the doorway, he saw the 
pale, narrow, furtive countenance of Perkins, the 
housemaid. For a moment there was an intense 
silence, during which both men seemed to hold their 
breath and nerve themselves for the struggle that lay 
before them. 

Then the elder man spoke. “ So it is you, after all ! 
The young woman came to tell me that she thought 
someone had broken into the house, and,” in tones of 
biting sarcasm, “I find that you are the housebreaker 1 — 
that you are the thief in the night ! I find you break- 
ing open drawers and rifling them of their contents, 
but ” — with a cold, saturnine smile — "I fear that you 
have found nothing to reward you for your pains. The 
packet you hold in your hand does not contain bank 
notes nor anything ” 

“ No,” was the interruption, for a few seconds had 
been sufficient to show him that, the other having 
forced his hand, there now remained to him nothing 
but to strike the great and final blow ; “ no, but it 
contains something of far more value to me than all 
the bank notes in the kingdom.” 

This defiant answer could not but provoke his late 
master Lo great astonishment and wrath. Was the 
370 


THE ENIGMA. 


371 


fellow mad? .hat, instead of cringing before him and 
imploring mercy, he regarded him unabashed, with fiery 
mien, and eyes which seemed to pierce him through and 
through. When and where had he seen another face 
like the one before him ? But the sight of the envelope 
which the young man held goaded him to fury. 

“ How dare you retain my property and brave me 
to my face ? ” he choked, colourless with rage. “ Give 
it me this instant, or it will be the worse for you when 
I hand you over to the police, as I intend to do.” 

Meanwhile, the young woman in the doorway, who 
had followed and spied upon her supposed fellow- 
servant all along, and now hoped to reap her reward 
in his utter ruin and disgrace, had ventured to draw 
a little nearer. 

“ I know where to find a policeman,” she murmured, 
insinuatingly. “ Shall I ?” 

But her master took no heed of her. 

“The letter!” he cried, advancing towards the 
other, threateningly. “ The letter, or ” 

“ There are five chambers in the revolver still 
undischarged,” was the calm reply. “ Is that what 
you are thinking of ? ” 

The other man fell back a step and his face became 
ashen in hue. 

“ What do you mean ? ” he gasped. “ Who are 
you, and how do you dare to defy me ? You — a thief ! 
— a ” 

“You asked me my name this morning,” was the 
answer, “ and, for reasons of my own, I refused to 
give it you. Those reasons no longer exist. Do you 
still wish to know it ? ” 

The master of the house contemplated the man he 
had that morning discharged from his service with 
feelings he could not have put into words. 

24 — 2 


372 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


Such utter fearlessness, such a total disregard of 
the consequences of the act in which he had been 
caught red-handed, seemed to point either to the most 
hardened criminal, or to one who knows he is possessed 
of some secret power. His voice failed him, and once 
more, with a mingling of suppressed fury and incom- 
prehensible apprehension, he gasped, “ The letter — 
I insist — and your name ! ” The housemaid made 
another step forward, which brought her well inside 
the room, in which this remarkable scene was going 
forward. 

“ There is almost certain to be a policeman at the 
corner of the road,” she remarked, a little louder than 
before. “ I could fetch him in a minute.” 

But so far from receiving any answer, neither of the 
two seemed to be even aware of her presence. 

The young man advanced a few steps. 

“ You asked me my name three times this morning, 
and I withheld it. Now, on the contrary, I should 
prefer you to know it.” 

Another step brought him close to his master, who 
all the while wondered dumbly at his words and 
bearing. Was ever such a servant as this one met 
with before ? 

“My name,” he said, “is ” and he whispered 

the rest in his ear. 

No need to ask whether he knew it. No need for 
further explanation. 

With a sudden cry, his hand pressed to his heart, 
and a ghastly greyness settling down upon his face, 
Mr. Ferrers dragged himself to the nearest chair. 

“ The medicine — the medicine ! ” he whispered, in a 
dreadful tone, pointing with one hand towards the 
mantelpiece. The other man, following with his eyes 
the direction of his gesture, saw a bottle and glass. 


THE ENIGMA. 


373 


“ The medicine ! ” repeated his enemy, in the same 
whisper. He appeared to be suffering horribly. 

Should he give the medicine or should he not ? His 
own father had suffered at this man’s hand, and why 
should he do ought to relieve his agony ? 

“ The medicine ! ” This time it was barely audible. 

The young man, who had been known by the name 
of Edwards, made a couple of strides in the direction 
signified, and was back again with the medicine bottle 
and glass; the struggle in his own mind, together 
with the last action, having occupied less than a 
moment. He read the directions on the label, 
measured out the proportion prescribed, .and held 
the same to the lips of what seemed the almost dying 
man. 

As he did so, he was aware of the eyes of the 
woman Perkins being fixed on him with the look of 
one who fears that, a great disappointment is in store 
for her. 

At the same time, Mr. Ferrers, apparently revived 
by the draught he had swallowed, also became con- 
scious of her presence. He looked at her, and made 
an unmistakable gesture, which, being disregarded, he 
managed to utter one word — 

“ Go ! ” he said ; and she dared not disobey, though 
she lingered on the threshold, as loth to depart ; and 
her expression of baffled malice was not pleasant to 
behold. 

By this time her master had partially recovered his 
voice. 

“Lock the door!” he said to his old friend’s son. 
He obeyed, and the two were left alone face to face. 
They confronted each other in silence, the one still 
seated, the other standing opposite to him, with folded 
arms, looking down upon him. 


374 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


“ What have you to say tome?” asked the former, 
in a feeble, broken voice ; but still with less craven 
terror, after the first effect of the shock had passed, 
than his stern and pitiless young judge had confidently 
looked for. 

“ What have I to say to you? ” repeated the latter, 
never moving his eyes from the face of the man before 
him. “ What should a son have to say to his father’s 
murderer? ” 

The older man gave a little cry and put up his 
hands, as though to shut out the sound. 

“Not that,” he murmured. “Oh, not that! And 
yet, it is no more than I feared. Oh, what a 
punishment has been mine for the act of one rash 
moment 1 ” 

“ You admit itl ” exclaimed the other, raising his 
voice in denunciation. “ You dare to admit it ! But 
that is only because you know that denial would be 
useless — because I hold your own confession of the 
crime in my hand — because I have seen the weapon 
with which you did the deed — because I have been 
tracking you, like a bloodhound, ever since — because I 
have submitted to the degradation of calling you 
‘ master,’ so as to be under the same roof with you, to 
spy upon you ! ” 

He gave way to the fury which consumed him. 
After the many long' weeks of stern self-repression 
and false humility, it was like passing from a heavy 
vitiated atmosphere into the cool fresh air. 

The man who sat there, weak and worn from his 
recent attack, seemed half stunned by the torrent of 
hatred he had let loose upon him. 

“ That was not like your father’s son,” he said at 
last. 

These were unfortunate words, it proved, for the 


THE ENIGMA . 


375 

man who had made use of them ; for the other turned 
upon him like a lion. 

“How dare you,” he cried, “remembering the past, 
take my father’s name upon your lips ? Do you, for 
one moment, forget the abyss of crime which separates 
him — the best of men — from you — his false friend and 
murderer? But he shall not be unavenged.” 

Mr. Ferrers rose from his seat as the infamous title 
was hurled at him the second time, and, despite his 
pallid countenance and evident weakness, there was a 
natural dignity about him now as he faced the furious 
and menacing countenance opposed to him. 

“ This is not the first time you have applied that 
shameful word to me,” he said. “ This must not be.” 

“ What 1 ” cried the young man. “ After having once 
admitted the crime, do you now seek to deny it ? Then 
hear me repeat it again,” and, raising his right hand, 
he emphasized each word by pointing with his forefinger 
— “ Murderer 1 Cruel, cowardly, cold blooded mur- 
derer 1 ” 

The other man staggered as though struck, and* 
supported himself with one trembling hand on the back 
of his chair. 

“It is false,” he said — “ false 1 I am guiltless — in 
thought — if not in deed ! ” 

He spoke with difficulty, and again his hand was 
pressed to his side. 

“ What is that you say ? ” asked his opponent, who 
had not caught the last words, but who involuntarily 
lowered his voice in the presence of such unmistakable 
physical weakness. “What is that you say?” he 
repeated. “ And how can you deny ought in the face 
of this confession which I hold in my hand? ” And he 
shook the envelope in his face. 

This action stirred the other powerfully. 


S76 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ Give it me ! ” he cried. “ I command ! — I implore ! 
That confession — though how you know it to be such 
I cannot tell — is sacred. Or, no” — with a sudden 
change — “ keep it and read it after I am dead ! ” 

Edward Burritt laughed derisively. 

“That is fine talking,” he said. “After you are 
dead ! When you are beyond my reach and that of 
human justice ! No, I will not wait until then.” 

Mr. Ferrers looked at him more in reproach than 
anger. 

“It is not much I ask,” he said, “ only a short 

reprieve. I am a dying man no, hear me out ! 

Not long ago an eminent physician uttered my sentence. 
He gave me a year to live — a year, that is, if I kept 
myself free from all excitement and received no 
sudden shock. To-night, I feel it, has reduced my 
term of existence to days or hours. It is not for my- 
self I ask this — it is for my child.” 

He had touched the one responsive chord. The 
other had forgotten her for the time and, as he looked 
in her father’s face, he saw there the imprint of the 
hand of Death, and acknowledged the truth of the 
words which he had spoken when he declared that he 
was doomed. 

He laid the envelope, which contained the secret, 
down upon the table. 

“If I consent to spare you the punishment due to 
the deed,” he said, slowly, “I must first know all. 
Your written confession, to be perused after death, will 
not satisfy me. How shall I know then that you have not 
bed? I must have it from your own lips now, or ” 

“ And have you not already had it from my own 
lips?” exclaimed Mr. Ferrers, with sudden passion. 
“ Have I not declared to you that I am not your 
father’s murderer? Am I not ready to swear it, how- 


THE ENIGMA. 


377 


ever much appearances may be against me ? I swear I 
never mn/rdered him t ” The young man put his hand 
to his head, bewildered. 

There was so much apparent truth in this reiterated 
declaration, that he was staggered in his belief for the 
first time. Would a dying man dare to lie like that ? 
and yet 

At this moment, he suddenly remembered his dream, 
his strange dream, which was always left unfinished ; 
the dream in which the mystery was always about to 
be explained, but which was never completed. 

He looked round him for inspiration, and his eye 
lighted upon the open drawer and suggested a train of 
thought. “ Why, if you have nothing to confess, have 
you written this confession ? ” 

“ I did not say that I had nothing to confess,” was 
the strange reply. “ I drew up the statement contained 
in that envelope, partly for the easing of my mind, and 
partly in the contemplation of such a crisis as has now 
arisen.” 

What could be made of such an enigma as this ? He 
strove to arrive at some comprehension of it in vain. 
The only possible explanation which occurred to him 
was, that he was being put off with lies. 

“ Do you deny that you are the man who wrote the 
letter which summoned my father to Dover? — or 
that you are the passenger who crossed from Calais the 
same morning and engaged a private room at the 
‘ Lord Warden ’ ? ” 

“I do not,” was the answer, given with as much 
firmness as physical prostration would allow ; but also 
with some evident surprise at the accuracy of the in- 
formation thus exhibited. 

“ Do you deny,” the interrogator went on, with 
rapidly increasing excitement, “that you are the 


378 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


other passenger who travelled by the 4*30 train and 
occupied a compartment in the fourth carriage from 
the engine?” 

The other man bent his head. “I do not deny it.” 

“ Do you deny that you were seen after the catas- 
trophe walking along the line by the guard, who asked 
you whether your companion had escaped with you ? — 
that you made no answer, and were neither seen nor 
heard of again until you were traced to this house? ” 

The other man bowed his head again in what seemed 
like shame, as he murmured, “ I deny nothing.” 

“And do you deny that the bullet that was dis- 
covered in the padding of that same compartment, 
which the fire only partially consumed, was discharged 
from the one empty chamber of the revolver which lies 
yonder ? ” 

His excitement, which had increased with each 
question, had become feverish in its intensity, and, in 
proportion as the passion grew in the one, so did the 
other appear to become a prey to remorse, or some 
other powerful feeling. 

“I do not deny it,” was the same monotonous 
answer. 

“Then tell me,” cried the young man, in a frenzy, 
“ tell me, whose was the hand that fired that shot ? ” 

Mr. Ferrers raised his head and answered clearly, 
and without hesitation, “ Mine ! ” 

The effect of this answer was electrical. 

“ What I ” — in a tone that thrilled through the 
hearer — “you admit all this, and yet, in the same 
breath, deny that you killed my father? ” 

“I never denied that I killed him,” was the calm 
reply of the elder man, as his eye encountered that of 
his inquisitor without flinching, and he seemed to have 
cast aside for the moment all agitation and alarm. 


THE ENIGMA. 


379 


Edward Burritt tried to frame the next question 
and failed. His lips moved, but no voice proceeded 
from them until 

“Liar I” he muttered, hoarsely, with his eyes glaring, 
“ to try and fool me like this ! How can you have 
killed my father and yet not be his murderer? ” 

“Because,” said the other, “I shot him at his own 
request / ’* 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE NARRATIVE. 

T HESE remarkable words were followed by another 
silence, during which the younger man seemed 
turned to stone, and the other, who appeared com- 
pletely exhausted by the strain of the last few minutes, 
let himself fall back into his chair and breathed 
heavily. 

Then the first, recovering himself, and speaking in a 
hoarse, strange voice, which even to his own ear 
sounded unnatural, asked — 

“ What do you mean? What horrible story is this? 
What foul lie ?” 

The other man pointed to the letter lying on the 
table between them. 

“ Read it,” he said, with an effort, and, even as he 
spoke those two words, the greyness began to return 
and deepen, and his face seemed to fall in. 

But Ted Burritt, instead of complying with the 
demand, only gazed at him in horror. 

“ Is it not enough, what you have done ? Must you 

also try to defile the memory ? ” 

He stopped, his voice strangled by contending 
passions. 

The other man pointed again to the envelope with 
the strange superscription, and repeated, in a still 
feebler voice than before, 

“Read it!” 


380 


THE NARRATIVE. 


381 


This time his adversary obeyed the injunction, and, 
stretching out his hand, took up the article and turned 
it over until the three seals were uppermost. 

Very slowly he broke them, one by one, and then 
again paused. 

“ Read it 1” came the words for the third time, in a 
fluttering whisper ; and, thus adjured, he stripped off 
the outer cover. 

Within were several sheets of paper, covered with 
writing, in the heavy scrawling hand, which he 
now knew well. 

“ THE TRUE NARRATIVE AND CONFESSION OF ME, JAMES 
FERRERS, OF THE STRANGE TRAGEDY OF THE 25TH 
OF APRIL.” 

And, by the light of the solitary candle, he read, as 
follows : — 

"I arrived in England on the 24th of April, after 
having been absent twenty years. The reasons for 
that prolonged absence I do not propose to enter into 
at length. Suffice it to say that I had committed an 
act which brought me within the reach of the law, 
and, but for the influence of friends, I might have 
expiated the deed by transportation. 

“ Forgery and embezzlement are ugly words, but 
the reality is uglier still. 

“ Reckless extravagance, betting and gambling, with 
a mad attempt to recover my position by speculating 
with money which was not my own, brought me to 
this shameful pass. The matter was allowed to blow 
over — to be hushed up — and the actual sum made 
away with was reimbursed. But I was a Pariah — an 
outcast — shunned and despised by all but one. One 
friend stood by me, one man still gave me the help of 


382 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


his countenance and extended the right hand of fellow- 
ship towards me, and he was my old friend, Silas 
Burritt. He alone was there to bid me farewell as I 
left England, a disgraced man. He alone bade me 
hope for better things and look forward to retrieving 
the failure of the past in the promise of the future.” — 
(“ And what a reward was his ! ” groaned the reader.) 
— “So I set sail for America, with the expressed 
resolve of not returning until many years had elapsed 
and those who were acquainted with my shameful 
history were either dead or else had forgotten it and 
me. 

“ What life I led and how I prospered in that new 
country need not be gone into here. But, at last, the 
term of years which I had set as the limit of my 
voluntary exile having all but expired, I ventured to 
return. I lingered purposely on my journey, so that 
when I landed at Dover, it was twenty years to the 
very day since I had first set sail. 

“ I put up at the * Lord Warden,’ where, according 
to appointment, I waited the arrival of my old friend. 

“ He came, and the meeting was a painful one on 
both sides. 

“After so long a parting, there was a sense of 
restraint between us, such as there could hardly have 
failed to be. It was twenty years since we had last 
looked into each other’s face, or grasped each other’s 
hand, and the ghost of that twenty years stood between 
us. But, after a while, this feeling became less notice- 
able. We had much to say, and J, for my part, had 
many questions to ask and much to learn. One thing 
I did learn — the most important of all — which was 
that, with one exception, I might consider myself free 
from the fear of any witnesses of the Past appearing 
to blight the prospects of the Future. 


THE NARRATIVE. 


383 


With one exception, there was no one who could 
point the finger of scorn at me, nor — what I feared 
most — degrade me in the eyes of my child — my one 
source of happiness. 

“ That' one was my old and faithful friend, Silas 
Burritt. 

“ The others were all dead, so he informed me, and 
my heart bounded at the news. He had assured me of 
this- more than once, but, for all that, I could not rest 
content, and after passing many restless, feverish 
hours, I rose from my bed, in the very early morning, 
and went to his *oom to put the question once more. 

“ He seemed somewhat vexed, and even startled, 
though why I do not know, by this persistence. But 
the next morning he was in the best of spirits. He 
refused to allow me to dwell upon the past and even 
made a jocular allusion — which seemed to afford him 
great satisfaction — to the prospect of a match being 
arranged between his son Edward and my daughter 
Agnes.” 

The reader started violently. 

“ Good heavens 1 ” he murmured. ** Can I believe 
this ? Oh, that there was no other barrier between us 
than the old affair of twenty years ago I That there 
was no other crime than this 1 ” 

It was some seconds before he could compose him- 
self sufficiently to continue the narrative. 

Then he read on. 

“ It was agreed that I should spend the next night 
under his roof, and make the acquaintance of his wife 
and family — the former of whom, in spite of my early 
friendship with her husband, was a complete stranger 
to me — and we agreed to travel by that ill-fated train 
known as the 4*30 express. 

“ Before proceeding further, I must mention that it 


384 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 


had always been my custom to carry fire-arms about 
my person. Life in one of the least civilized of one of 
the Western States of America had made this an 
absolute necessity, and I had not yet, since my return 
to Europe, succeeded in breaking myself of this habit. 

“ My friend — and this is a coincidence worth mark- 
ing — expressed a considerable distaste and nervousness 
with regard to this matter, and did all he could to 
induce me to alter my custom, and, at least, consign 
my dangerous weapon to the recesses of my portman- 
teau. I thought this feeling, on his part, exaggerated 
at the time ; I now regard it as one of the most 
singular instances of the power of human instinct that 
I have ever met with. 

“ Would that I had obeyed its promptings, and thus 
spared myself the agonies of remorse and dread 
through which I have since been condemned to pass — -in 
truth, a very furnace of affliction, which I might have 
been able to bear had there been but myself to con- 
sider, but which has been augmented beyond en- 
durance by the thought of my innocent daughter being 
involved in my ruin. 

“ After all I had done to keep from her all know- 
ledge of the past, to have run the risk of being branded 
as a murderer! — to have put myself in peril of my 
life ! — was enough to have driven me to suicide, but 
for the fear of leaving her alone in the world ; not to 
mention the exposure which might have ensued after 
death I As it was I kept myself supplied with a means 
of escape, in case of things coming to the worst. 

“But to return to the 4-30 train. I remember 
taking great pains to insure a vacant compartment 
and retain it to ourselves for the journey ; all which 
only went to add to the weight of evidence which 
afterwards gathered black against me. 


THE NARRATIVE. 


385 


“ How often I have read and re-read the testimony 
of the* guard at the inquest, and anxiously compared 
his description of the mysterious missing passenger 
with my own. The train started on the journey which 
was to end in its destruction, and mile after mile sped 
away in silence. Once more the feeling of restraint 
had settled down upon us, and this time heavier than 
before. Each was occupied with his own thoughts, 
and several times I caught my friend’s eye turned 
upon me in doubt, and I feared — with the shadow of 
the past behind me — to ask him the reason of this. 
After a time this feeling became so strong and so in- 
tolerable that I moved to the opposite side of the 
carriage, under the pretence of inspecting the view.” 

The reader now devoured each word with frightful 
eagerness, and he breathed like a man running a race. 

“Then I remember a sudden, awful, never-to-be- 
forgotten crash, followed by cries and shrieks such as 
have rung in my ears ever since. 

“ I found myself flung violently forward against the 
opposite side of the compartment amid the smashing 
of woodwork, and with the presentiment of some 
awful doom upon me. I was half stunned, but re- 
covering myself, found that I was not much hurt. 
Then I remembered my companion and turned my 
attention to him. 

“I heard a groan proceed from the opposite end of 
the carriage, which had sustained the most damage ; 
and, but for the groan, I might have thought that he 
was dead, so white and motionless was he. The door 
had been smashed and beaten in, the flooring torn up, 
the seat splintered, and he was jammed into the 
corner, in which he had been sitting by the broken 
timber. 

“ ‘ Silas P I cried. * Are you hurt ? * 


25 


386 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


fjut before he could reply, another sound was 
added to the awful babel of cries and groans all 
around. A crackling sound it was at first, which 
almost instantly increased to a dull roar. 

“ ‘ Fire ! fire 1 ’ we heard shrieked in voices mad 
with terror, mingled with agonizing cries for help. 
The atmosphere became stifling, a sickening, insup- 
portable odour was wafted towards us and clouds of 
thick, black, suffocating smoke began to drift past. 

“ I forced my head out of the window on the least 
injured side of the compartment and saw the whole 
line in flames, which were devouring everything which 
came in their way. Even as I looked they had almost 
reached the next carriage and my face was scorched 
with the heat. 

“ ‘ Silas ! ’ I shouted, in mad terror, to my friend ; 
* come 1 exert yourself, if you wish to escape instant 
death l ’ 

“ And I caught him round the body and tried to 
compel him to move ; but in vain ; he only gave a 
scream of agony. 

“ ‘ Save yourself,’ he groaned. * I cannot stir ; and 
I think my leg is broken.’ 

“ I was almost demented, and tore at the shattered 
woodwork which made his prison, with my fingers ; 
but only to increase his agony, without freeing him 
from his horrible position. And already the atmo- 
sphere was like that of a furnace, and hell itself seemed 
to be open. I could not save him, but I might save 
myself. I knew the door on the other side was 
unlocked, so that I might attempt to escape that way. 

“ It was useless to sacrifice another life. 

“ I prepared for flight, but before I had taken the 
first step I was stayed by my friend’s voice — 

“ ‘ James,’ he cried — and the roaring of the flames 


THE NARRATIVE. 


387 


almost drowned his voice, which was sharp and shrill 
with horror — ‘ put me out of my misery. Save your- 
self, but shoot me through the brain first! Quick! 
quick ! ' 

“ It was the most merciful death, and, without 
pausing a second — which on that awful day might 
have meant a human life — I drew the revolver, placed 
it to his temple” — (“ My God ! ” from the reader) — “ and 
pulled the trigger. Even as I heard the report a 
thin tongue of flame curled upward through the 
splintered flooring, and without even looking back — ■ 
without even a glance at the face of my friend, I forced 
open the door and sprang from the now burning 
carriage with the smoking weapon still grasped in my 
right hand. In doing so I trod upon some smoulder- 
ing timber and wrenched my ankle severely, so that 
for a long time I was lame. 

“ But I was saved ! All along the line the scene 
resembled a Pandemonium. No one had heard the shot, 
nor if they had, would have paid the slightest regard 
to it. I thrust the revolver out of sight, and made my 
way to a place of safety. As soon as I had begun to 
recover myself and think calmly of what I had done, I 
was able to realize the full effect of my late action. 
I was tormented by the horrible thought that, after all, 
he might have been saved, and, in that case, I must bo 
looked upon as, neither more nor less than, his murderer. 
On the other hand, I had probably saved him from an 
awful death, unless the flames had been miraculously 
quenched before they reached him. 

“ I have no recollection of being spoken to by the 
guard, but there is nothing remarkable in that, under 
the circumstances. 

“A few hours later and I was conveyed to town, 
together with a company of the other survivors, and as 

25—2 


388 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


soon as I reached my destination my strength forsook 
me and I was prostrated for days by a nervous illness, 
the result of my late terrible experience. 

“When I recovered, it was to find that there was a 
hue and cry already after me — that the partially 
consumed corpse of a first class passenger had been 
discovered shot through the head, and that all the 
evidence pointed to the crime having been committed 
by a fellow traveller who had made his escape during 
the terror and confusion of the catastrophe and who 
was being eagerly sought for. 

“ I had not thought of this. I had looked for no 
other accuser than my own conscience with respect to 
this rash act of mine. It had not occurred to me to 
consider how it might appear in the eyes of others, nor 
even to reflect that traces of it might escape the general 
conflagration. Now I woke to the full horror of my 
situation — to find my own life in jeopardy — for it was 
too late now to come forward with the true story. The 
only thing to do, so it appeared to me, was to remain 
quiet and trust to time, or chance and the slenderness 
of the clue which the authorities possessed. 

“ Since then, I have had to submit to the ordeal of 
seeing myself confronted by the reward of one hundred 
pounds offered for my detection; and have lived in 
daily and hourly fear of being charged with the com- 
mittal of this crime — if crime it can be called — of 
which I was guiltless, in thought, if not in deed. It 
is this which is killing me, and I do not regret it. 

“Sometimes I regret nothing; not even the shot 
which took my best friend’s life and branded me with 
the brand of Cain l ” 


CHAPTER XX. 

DR. jerbmiah’s little bill. 


HIS was all. The reader drew a long, shuddering 



-L breath. “My God I” he whispered, voice and 
everything seeming to fail him for the moment, in the 
face of the revelation which had burst upon him. “ My 
God 1 To think that I should know the truth at last ! 
But how marvellous ! how utterly beyond the realiza- 
tion of my wildest dreams ! ” 

Not for an instant did it occur to him to think the 
narrative false. It was too astounding and, what was 
more, it agreed so exactly with all the strange, and 
hitherto mysterious, circumstances which had attended 
the tragedy. And the man he had wronged — the man 
he had hunted down and would have betrayed to 
death, believing him to be the vilest of his species — 
whose whole nature he had read falsely by the light 
of his unjust suspicions ! He turned towards him. 
What could he say to one who, by his rash act, had 
killed his father, but who, by so doing, had saved 
him from the agony of a slow and horrible death ? 

For it was quite evident to the young man now that 
he could not have escaped, though he might have 
lingered in agony while the lower part of his body was 
being partially consumed. 

What an awful, sickening thought ! How merciful 

the other death was by comparison, and what 

He was very still — that other I His eyes were 
closed — he seemed to be hardly breathing. Had he 
fainted — or — was this death ? 


389 


390 


THE FATAL BEQUEST. 

What was more, the one candle which had illumi- 
nated the scene flickered in its socket and was on 
the point of expiring. 

Was he to be left alone, and in the dark, with a 
dead or dying man ? 

He rushed to the door, prepared to alarm the house- 
hold. As he flung it open, he stumbled against 
someone who was crouching outside, and who was 
betrayed into an involuntary cry of alarm at the 
violence and suddenness of the contact. It was the 
woman Perkins. 

“She has been listening,” he thought. “What has 
she heard ? ” 

But, so far from turning upon her and accusing her 
of eavesdropping, he was glad of her presence. 

“ Quick ! ” he said ; “ get brandy and smelling salts 
and a light, while I go for the doctor.” 

He was not dead ; but the nearest medical man, on 
being summoned to the house, shook his head over the 
case. 

“ Heart 1 ” he said, briefly. “ Get him to bed. I 
do not think he will ever need to get up again.” 

By this time the whole household was roused, and 
the sick man’s daughter was hanging, in speechless 
grief, over her father’s unconscious form, and, to the 
stupefaction of the other servants, the young man of 
the name of Edwards showed almost as much emotion 
as his young mistress — for did not his conscience 
accuse him of being the cause of this ? 

Perkins, the housemaid, felt herself utterly routed 
by the unexpected turn of affairs, though, had she 
chosen to open her thin lips, she might perhaps have 
been able to dispel some of the mystery which hung 
over the death bed — for a death bed it was to be. 

But she kept them tightly closed, and no one ever 


DR. JEREMIAH'S LITTLE BILL. 


391 


knew how much, or how little, she had heard that night 
when she listened outside the door. 

At one time it was feared that he would pass away 
unconscious, but the untiring application of restoratives 
was at last productive of some effect, and two or three 
hours later the dying man opened his eyes. 

He saw his daughter kneeling beside his pillow; 
and, not far away, his old friend’s son, who, by some 
means, had asserted and maintained a right to remain 
in the sick room. 

Moreover, the latter had put off, for the last time, 
the garments which marked his inferior position, and 
had assumed a suit of plain clothes. 

The change which this had effected in his appearance 
was observed, in spite of the mournfulness of the occa- 
sion, by the girl whose sole surviving parent was on 
the point of being taken from her. 

“ I wonder whether I am awake or dreaming? ” she 
asked herself. “ Or how it is that he seems to have as 
much right to be here as myself ? ” 

Other members of the household were seeking an 
answer to the same question, and seeking it in vain. 

“ Never ’ave I seed anythink like it ! ” said cook. 
“ What with so much feelin’, and the clothes ’e wears 
Sundays, and consultin’ with the doctor jest like one 
of the family ; and me bein’ roused out o’ my sleep, which 
’ad but that minnit closed my eyes, and most o’ my 
things on ’ind afore, I found myself callin’ ’im ‘ sir ’ 
afore I knowed where I were.” 

But to return to the sick chamber. 

The doctor, seeing that the patient had regained 
consciousness for a while before the end, stood aside, 
so as not to interfere with those last solemn 
moments. 

But he observed, with surprise, that the latter’s eyes, 


392 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


resting for a moment upon his daughter’s face, passed 
on and sought that of the strange young man, whose 
exact position in the house the doctor had been unable 
to grasp. 

The dying man’s gaze rested upon the young man 
— who, in obedience to a gesture, approached and bent 
over him — with a strange intensity, and his lips moved. 

“Do you forgive?” he murmured close to the 
other’s ear, so that the words might be heard by none 
but him for whom they were intended. 

“ I have nothing to forgive,” was the broken answer. 
“ You acted for the best, and I bless you for it.” 

A look of peace fell upon the corpse-like countenance 
upon the pillow, and he turned his eyes again upon 
his daughter. 

“ Don’t grieve much for me, my child,” he said ; 
“ and when I am gone ” 

The sentence was never finished. 

He gave a deep sigh, his eyes closed, and his head 
fell a little to one side. 

The doctor pressed forward. 

“ This is the end,” he said, “ and a very peaceful 
one.” 

But it was not quite the end. 

Once more the dying eyes opened, and fixed them- 
selves upon the pale, remorseful face of the young 
man who had once hoped to see him expiate his deed 
upon the scaffold. 

Then he turned them from him to the bowed head 
of the girl who knelt, with her face hidden, upon the 
other side of the bed, and back again. His lips moved 
for the last time, but no words issued from them. 

He tried again, and this time — though there was no 
sound — it seemed to the other, who had his eyes fixed 
upon them, and his ear strained to catch the lightest 


DR. JEREMIAH'S LITTLE BILL. 


393 


whisper, that the motion of the lips might be trans- 
lated into the words, “ Keep my secret I ” 

“I will — I will,” he answered, and even as he 
uttered these words the end came. 

* * * * * 

The next day Ted Burritt returned home unex- 
pectedly. 

The first thing he did was to write a brief summary 
of events to Dr. Jeremiah Cartwright, who, in spite of 
the very short time which had elapsed since his last 
visit, again made his appearance at Magnolia Lodge — 
ostensibly to. hear further details, but more particularly 
to carry out a deep laid scheme of his own. 

“ Of all the extraordinary affairs,” he remarked when 
he had heard all, “ this is the most extraordinary, and 
I’ve had some experience — especially when I was in 
the 47th. Who would ever have imagined such a 
solution to the mystery ? 

“ And how about that poor young girl — the 
daughter ? ” he demanded, suddenly bringing the gold- 
rimmed spectacles to bear upon the other. “ Surely 
she’s not left all alone in the house with her dead 
father and the servants ? ” 

“ She — that is, I believe — she has written to an old 
governess of hers, who is out of a situation, to come 
and stay with her, which will be better than nothing. 
I thought, you know,” he explained, “ that as I hap- 
pened to be under notice to leave at the time this 
happened, it would be better for me to do so.” 

“ And you intend to preserve the whole affair as a 
secret? ” asked the doctor. 

“I do,” he replied. “With the exception of two 
people, to whom I reserved the right of imparting it — 
and who, I know, will keep the matter inviolate.” 

“ And they are?” 


394 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


“ My sister and yourself. She, I considered, had 
an equal right, together with myself, to learn the 
mystery of her father’s fate — in 'fact, it would have 
been impossible to leave her in ignorance of it. I 
owed it to the dead man himself to clear his character 
in her eyes. It was an intense relief to her mind — 
and you, of course, had to be informed of the matter 
for the same reason.” 

The doctor nodded. “ Just so,” he said. 

But he was evidently primed with another question, 
which he proceeded to fire off. “ And what do you 
mean to do? — eh? I mean, about the young lady? 
Oh, you needn’t look as though you don’t understand 
what I’m talking about ! I’ve not forgotten what you 
told me about her. Of course, I know it’s too soon-to 
begin talking about such things already — with that 
poor unfortunate gentleman lying in his coffin. But, 
I suppose, there’s no just cause nor impediment 
now? — eh? No immovable barrier? — no Cruel 
Fate? or anything of that sort? What a beautiful 
blush!” 

And the little gentleman chuckled; then, all at 
once, became preternaturally grave. “By-the-by,” 
he said, slowly, and with a noticeable tendency to 
avoid his friend’s eye, “ about that bill of mine.” 

Ted looked surprised. 

“Bill?” he repeated. 

“Yes, bill,” continued the doctor. “You didn’t 
suppose I was going to let you off, did you? You 
haven’t forgotten what I said a little while back about 
sending one in, have you ? ” 

The young man looked and felt nonplussed. 

“ Well,” went on the doctor, with a rush, as though 
he knew the subject was an awkward one, and was 
determined to get it over as quickly as possible. 


DR. JEREMIAH'S LITTLE BILL. 


395 


'* I have made up my mind to take it in kind.” 

** Have you,” answered Ted, still all abroad. 

“ You don’t seem to grasp my meaning yet,” said the 
doctor. 

“ I must confess that I do not,” was the answer. 

“ What I mean is,” continued Dr. Cartwright, “that 
instead of receiving payment for whatever services I 
may have rendered, in ready money, I am willing to 
take it out in some other article.” 

“ And what might that article be ?” was the natural 
but still perplexed inquiry. 

“ Your sister,” was the brief and much to the point 
response. 

“By Jove!” was the exclamation it called forth — 
followed by, “ you don’t mean it?” 

“ Don’t I, though I” was the determined reply. “I’ve 
been meaning it for some time past. What’s more, 
I’ve sounded the young lady — I don’t mean with a 
stethoscope — and she wasn’t half so much surprised 
as you seem to be.” 

The brother of the young lady in question burst out 
laughing. 

“ Why, there’s a quarter of a century or so between 
you,” he remarked, in the rudest way. 

But the doctor never blenched. 

“ Quarter of a century ! what’s that ? ” he inquired, 
with contempt. ‘ * Quarter of a century ! pooh I Besides, 
it isn’t so much as that by a long way — not by some 
months at the least, and I’m getting younger every 
day. I shall be a mere boy soon — so I’ll just trouble 
you for your consent — or else I’ll do without it.” 

“ I suppose I shall have to give in,” was the answer, 
“ and I may as well do it sooner than later.” 

***** 

About three months later a gentleman in the most 


396 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


irreproachable attire called at the residence of the late 
James Ferrers, Esq., of Belmont House, Hampstead, 
and requested to see Miss Ferrers. 

Evidently no successor had been found to the young 
man Edwards, for the door was opened by the good 
looking parlour maid, who uttered quite a little scream 
when she recognized the visitor, but was so overcome 
by his general appearance and manner that she 
showed him into the drawing room without hesitation, 
while she went to inform her young mistress that " a 
gentleman ” had called to see her. 

For, as she subsequently remarked to the cook, 
“ There was no denying as he was quite the gentleman 
to look at, and however he come to take a situation, 
like he did, was more than anyone could under- 
stand.” 

“ Depend upon it,” said the cook, “ there’s a miss- 
terry somewhere — there’s a many miss-terrys in this 
life, and this is one of ’em.” 

Meanwhile a most momentous interview was taking 
place in the drawing room. Miss Ferrers, who had 
descended to encounter her visitor quite in ignorance 
as to his identity, was confounded beyond measure to 
discover, in the supposed stranger, none other than 
that same individual whom she had first met at the 
Royal Academjr and who had afterwards occasioned 
her the greatest perplexity of mind by doubling the 
part of the young man who waited at table and 
cleaned the plate. Only — he had grown the loveliest 
moustache and it seemed perfectly impossible to 
imagine for a moment that he had ever done such a 
thing as polish the forks and spoons and make himself 
generally useful. 

Had he come for a character — or what ? 

Then, all at once, she remembered that he had not 


DR. JEREMIAH'S LITTLE BILL. 


397 


received his last month’s wages. Perhaps he had 
come to claim the money due to him — but what a 
lovely exotic he wore in his button -hole — and what 
exquisite boots ! 

Without mentioning a word about the wages owing 
to him, he plunged at once into the object of his 
visit. 

“ I should have called much sooner,” he remarked, 
with a compassionate glance at her deep mourning, 
“ but was afraid of intruding upon your retirement. 
I have a statement to make — an explanation to give, 
which I cannot withhold any longer.” 

He came nearer to her and — oh, the presumption 
of the creature ! — actually ventured to take her 
hand. 

“ Do you remember being at the Academy, one day 
last June, and dropping your catalogue ? ” 

Did she not ? But she made no audible reply, and 
the explanation thus propitiously commenced was 
continued without any interruption beyond an oc- 
casional stifled exclamation on the part of its re- 
cipient. 

It lasted so long that both the cook and parlourmaid 
were at their wit’s end. 

It is not necessary, however, to report the whole of 
what passed during the interview. A certain portion 
only of it need be referred to as being of some 
interest. 

“ And you really mean to say,” said Miss Ferrers to 
the young man — who a few months ago had occupied 
such a very subordinate position, but had now taken 
it upon himself to assume one unnecessarily close to 
her, and was generally conducting himself most unbe- 
comingly — “ you really mean to say that you fell in 
love with me then and there, and took the situation, 


398 


THE FATAL REQUEST. 


and put up with everything, just for the sake of being 
under the same roof with me? ” 

He looked at her strangely for a moment before 
answering. 

“What other reason could there have been?” he 
asked. 

She clapped her hands together in delight. 

“ Whatever will the girls at school say to this ? " 


FINIS. 





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